


Hypothesis

by BalloonArcade



Series: Hypothesis [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Conditioning, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Healing is not a linear path, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Interspersed with Humor, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Misunderstandings, Non-con spark merges, Platonic Intimacy Issues, Psychological Trauma, Separation Anxiety, Sexual Intimacy Issues, Social Anxiety, Substance Abuse, Touch-Starved Manipulation, Unreliable Narrator, emotional incest, eventual hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 166,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalloonArcade/pseuds/BalloonArcade
Summary: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are raised in Shockwave's lab with no knowledge of the other's existence. When experiments with their sparks bring them together, their vastly different worlds start to overlap and clash.They have no idea what they are, but they aren't like normal mechs. Sideswipe spins stories and coaches Sunstreaker how to hide his "weird" social behaviours, hiding the two of them in plain sight behind half truths, jokes, and too wide of a smile - just perfectly normal ex-gladiator mechs that do perfectly normal  "Conjunx Endura things" with their sweet sparks, thank you very much.Because to be otherwise they think the Autobots will study Sideswipe's special spark and Sunstreaker will be killed for being one of Shockwave's abominations, or worse - Shockwave might find them, bring them home, and separate them.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long emotional rollercoaster. 
> 
> Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are raised in Shockwave's lab with no idea of their precise origins. They've got trauma - emotional trauma galore, with themselves, with each other, with others. 
> 
> As of June 2018: I tagged this story as both romantic and platonic between the twins because it's incredibly complicated and the traditional definitions of what is a romantic touch or a platonic touch are warped for both of them in different ways. I don’t tag other relationships because if someone is reading the story for a specific relationship tag promise/warning I’m never going to deliver what you are expecting. I’ve fallen through a loop hole with this story in how tagging is designed to be used to advertise what a reader can expect/find/avoid. 
> 
> The end goal of Hypothesis isn’t who the twins end up with in a platonic or in a romantic relationship, if at all with anyone, the end goal of Hypothesis is their journey navigating life with trauma and healing for themselves. But that does mean the relationships they form in different ways along the way as well.
> 
> **This story is incredibly complicated to tag, so be warned: the tags may change much later in the story, I do appreciate it though if you let me know there is a tag you would like me to consider adding.**

Creation lay perfectly still with his chestplate splayed wide open, spark exposed. Wires trailed from the sensors he had attached to his spark chamber under Creator’s single optic gaze. 

The heavy scent of processed energon and trace amounts of phosphorous, sulphur and heated cybermetal plating permeated the room. Experiments lay shackled to the examination tables on the other side of the lab. Their faceplates and frames would contort into shapes as they emitted shrill noises laced with static from their vocalizers. The shapes were fascinating to watch, and when he was alone, Creation would try to mimic them in the mirror - after meticulously inspecting himself for damage. 

Creation was not to be damaged. Optimal function assessments were performed by Creator every cycle. 

The noises from the experiments were so familiar they didn't fully compute in his processor and drifted into the background as he lay on his designated examination table. The experiments would eventually go silent.

Unlike the experiments, he was unrestrained. Creation wasn’t an experiment, he didn’t live with them. He was Creator’s - treated differently than the drones, but given clear parameters to follow.

Waiting silently for Creator to return to start their experiment, he focused on remaining perfectly still. Creator did not permit noise or vocalizations outside the time periods designated for instruction or queries. And Creation very much did not wish to be shut alone in his quarters again. He had not been shut away for so long, not since Creator had deemed his behaviour within acceptable parameters. 

Perhaps after this procedure Creator would allow Creation to curl up in his berth with him and hold him. Creation had liked that last time. The warmth of the plating of another against his own; Creator's servos stroking his helm. 

The results of their procedure didn’t last long. They never did, and then Creation would be directed back to his corner to wait and observe silently again. But the scientific method was designed for repeated failures, each failure bringing new insight to a solution or conclusion. Creator stated that the results indicated his hypothesis remained valid. 

With his chestplating willingly splayed wide open to expose his spark, surrounded by familiar scents and sounds of the lab, Creation waited patiently for Creator to return.

This was home. 

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Bitlet giggled as Carrier tickled him, digits working between transformation seams to find sensitive wires and cables. The peels of his laughter echoed off the cold, clean metal walls of their room. It was always bright. 

The mech across from them in a separate room of his own was smiling at Bitlet as he gained the advantage and squealed with glee as Carrier mock collapsed under Bitlet’s attack. 

Bitlet could feel in his spark that it was almost time for another treatment. As their fields mingled and danced about each other, he didn't tell Carrier. Bitlet hated how Carrier would shake when the one optic purple monster would come to take him. The noises Carrier made tore at his spark and his field full of terror stretched it to its limit to wrap around Bitlet - as if to shield Bitlet for the longest possible time - while Bitlet was carried away.

Once the last tendrils of Carrier's clinging field stretched into nothing with the forced distance between them, and a few doors were closed to muffle the noise, Bitlet would begin kicking, screaming and lashing out with his own field toward that monster. 

Even managed to bite the monster once, drew energon and everything.

Bitlet tried his hardest to keep Carrier and all the mechs in their own separate rooms smiling. Some had wires that jutted out of places where their helm plating had been removed, others were missing plating in random places on their frame, even entire limbs. One mech had all his external plating removed. Bitlet would spend joors laying on his front, chin resting in his servos and kicking his legs up in the air while watching how the mechs internals moved as the mech paced in his own room while Carrier was recharging.

Carrier recharged a lot.

Most of his neighbours however, simply stared at their walls.

Sometimes he would manage to swipe an item from the lab he could bring back, and set a scene up to make them smile. 

His favourite was his collection of little wire mechs Carrier had taught him to make by twisting spare bits of wire he had grabbed. The little mechs would go on grand adventures in the world that Carrier insisted existed beyond these always bright, locked rooms. Carrier would talk about escaping to that world, and Bitlet was skeptical Carrier was just making up stories, but he loved the thought anyway.

A neighbour across from him once slid him some of the mech’s own wiring while Carrier was recharging and whispered that he’d like Bitlet to send a part of him on an adventure. 

“He’s a trouble maker.” Vocalizer rough with static, the mech winked at Bitlet with his single remaining optic. His field had teased at Bitlet’s own, playful and resigned.

The mech never returned the next time he was taken.

When Carrier slipped into recharge after the following fuel cycle, Bitlet wiggled out of his arms and sent his new wire mech on the grandest adventure yet.

He named him Mischief.

Other neighbouring mechs began to pass him their own wires.

Slowly, all his neighbours would be taken, never to return, and new ones would take their place. Bitlet would greet them with a smile while teasing at the edges of their fields. and introduce them to all his little wire mechs, telling them of their adventures in the world Carrier said existed outside.

Often he could get them to smile. Sometimes, he could make them laugh.

Only one neighbour remained besides himself and Carrier from Bitlet’s earliest memories.

The rest were new.

Carrier was never taken. 

Bitlet was always returned. 

This was home.


	2. Bitlet

“Please! Don't take him. You said I could keep one.” 

Bitlet onlined to his carrier's frantic protest and saw the familiar one optic purple mech reaching for him. Squirming away from the creepy mech he tried to bury himself deeper into Carrier's arms. 

"Its spark is required.”

It was always the same as the first time the mech came for him. The scary mech grasped Bitlet by the back of his collar faring and pulled him out of his Carrier’s tight hold. His plating scraped as Carrier frantically tried to keep a hold of him, but the mech was stronger and simply turned to carry him out of their room. Carrier grabbed the mech's arm and begged him not to take Bitlet. The mech merely batted Carrier away without a word. 

He hit the wall and slid down dazed, then wrapped his field tight around Bitlet, weaving a swirling terror amongst Bitlet's own.

Bitlet use to chirp binary, shake, and reach for him but now he stilled at the tank churning fear in Carrier’s field; trying to exude confidence in his own. He would be returned. He always returned. As he was carried out of their home and their door bars sprang back to life, he was reminded of the first time he had been separated from his Carrier. The first time had been terrifying. He’d never been separated from Carrier before - never been on the other side of their bars before. He’d seen the other mechs leave with the drones. Sometimes they would stab them with something then his neighbour would go quiet, still, and be dragged away.

But the one optic mech only ever came here for Bitlet.

Once the one optic mech went far enough away that Carrier could no longer feel his field, or hear his screams, he started fighting. Struggling against the strong grip, he screamed and clawed as he was carried down cold, brightly lit, impeccably clean corridors. Lashing out hard with his field to no effect, he managed to get a few good kicks in on the purple monster’s upper leg plating.

His struggles were ignored as if they didn’t matter, and he was simply held further away from the monster’s frame in response to his efforts.

They passed the room they normally entered - where mechs he knew screamed until their vocalizers spit static, and their fields spiked in plating rattling pain and terror - and Bitlet’s world expanded into a new room that held all types of machines with blinking lights that he had never seen. Stilling, optics wide, he gaped as he tried to take in everything new at once. Some of the machines had lots of pretty blinking lights, and buttons he ached to push. He’d managed to push a few buttons once, he liked the feel of them. Other machines had screens that scrolled symbols that looked like they had pretty patterns.

He was riveted.

He’d never seen anything beyond his room with Carrier, and that one room of pain and terror. 

This room smelled strongly of the solvent the drones would use to hose down himself and his carrier. Plating clamped tight against his frame at the smell; hoping he wasn’t going to have to bath. The solvent the drones used was always too cold, and he would have to cling to Carrier to warm up his internals again. 

The machines surround two berths in the middle of the room. The berths were _almost_ identical; one contained restraints. The creepy purple mech placed him on that berth, and restrained him as he renewed his struggling. Bitlet hated this mech with all his spark, and his lack of field made his plating crawl.

The purple mech ignored him as Bitlet spit the curses he’d learned from his neighbours. Despite Carrier's protests when he practiced, the rest would laugh and that response always made it worth it. Shackled tight to the berth, and only able to move his helm, the creepy monster simply turned to one of the machines.

Then he spoke a single word.

"Creation."

Bitlet's struggles stopped along with his ventillations. The purple mech never talked to Bitlet, but at his single creepy emotionless word Bitlet saw movement out of the corner of his optic. 

A youngling he had not noticed had been standing motionless in the corner of the room. Bitlet watched, startled as the youngling started forward and climbed meticulously on to the berth next to Bitlet's. He rarely had youngling neighbours, and normally they cried a lot, but they never stayed long.

This youngling’s frame looked exactly like Bitlet’s own, except unlike Bitlet's scraped and scuffed finish from wrestling and playing with Carrier, his finish was so polished the silver reflected as a perfect mirror. Bitlet stared at the reflection of his own faceplate for the first time in this youngling’s chestplate, then he compared his faceplate’s reflection to this youngling's. 

Identical. 

Something about this youngling made Bitlet's spark leap and sing and Bitlet forgot his fear, forgot his shackled limbs, forgot the creepy monster with no field and he couldn't help it -

He offered his new neighbour a brilliant smile. 

The youngling looked at Bitlet’s smile expressionless, but he froze from where he was climbing onto the berth, and stared. After a few moments he glanced toward the purple mech as if for instruction. When no instruction came and the purple mech remained with his back to them, the youngling looked back at Bitlet, tilted his helm and attempted a smile of his own. 

The smile was lopsided and strained and Bitlet couldn't help it, he laughed. 

It was like this youngling had never seen a smile before so he -

"Unacceptable.”

At the creepy mech’s monotone words, the attempt at a smile was instantly wiped off the shiny youngling's faceplate and he shrunk in on himself while he dropped his gaze from Bitlet.

The purple mech had turned around and began to attach wires to Bitlet's frame. Then he connected into the port on his wrist like he always did. Coding appeared on his HUD and he had no idea exactly what it said but he recognized the pattern. Bitlet tried to cancel the command to open his chest plate that would bare his spark casing but it was overridden. 

The sounds of transformation from beside him distracted his attention away from his internal struggle against his own systems, and the purple mech’s familiar movements as he moved back to his machines with all the tempting buttons. Bitlet watched as the other youngling opened his chestplate and laid back on the berth beside him. He stared straight at the ceiling and ignored Bitlet's shuffling attempts to get his attention. 

And Bitlet _wanted_ his attention more than he had ever wanted anything. A plan was already forming in his processor. The other youngling wasn't cuffed to the berth and could help him escape back to Carrier then -

“Pst," he whispered and nudged with his field now that the purple mech's attention was back on his monitors. 

The other youngling didn't twitch. Just lay there calmly in the middle of the berth like it was no big deal to have his spark exposed. Carrier always told Bitlet that he had a special spark, and scolded that sparks were private and not to be displayed when Bitlet had opened his chestplate to see what was so special about his. 

“Hey." Bitlet tried again. 

This time the other youngling ruffled his plating and looked at Bitlet, expressionless. But he was looking at Bitlet now and he counted that at as a small victory. 

"Hey can you get these cuffs off me?” He whispered.

The other youngling looked toward the purple mech then brought his attention back to Bitlet. Then he motioned for silence and Bitlet's spark soared. He was going to let him out and they could escape back to Carrier together, then all three of them could free all his neighbours and find whatever door opened that took the other mechs away forever and out into the world Carrier told stories about.

The shiny youngling just laid back down and stared at the ceiling again. 

What?

Why did he motion for silence if they weren't going to be sneaky? That was the motion that Carrier would use when Bitlet would show him what he grabbed from the lab. Bitlet only had to be silent when he was being sneaky.

The opportunity was lost as the purple mech turned back around and brought the equipment over to the other youngling's side. He handed the wires to Bitlet's shiny double and Bitlet's fuel tanks twisted and clenched as he watched the other youngling attach the wires and sensors to his own spark plating, faceplate cleared of emotion. 

Once the sensors were in place the other youngling looked up at the purple mech expectantly. 

"Acceptable."

The other youngling puffed up his plating a bit at the monotoned word. 

Bitlet gaped at him with disbelief. What kind of mech could calmly attach sensors around their own spark? What was _wrong _with him?__

____

____

The purple mech stationed himself between them at the top of the berths and attached some cables between the two younglings. 

With the first wire Bitlet felt a slight tingle in his spark. With the second it started to hum. Lifting his helm to look to see what was happening in his chestplate, out of the corner of his optic he saw the other youngling shaking, plating rattling against the berth, optics offline. Then the third cable was attached and Bitlet arched off the berth as charge rushed through his frame, his legs and arms were still restrained, except they weren't - they were free and focused on not moving, not making noise, never make noise you or will be left alone. 

His optics were simultaneously offline and online and his processor spun at the disorientating conflicting messages. Shockwave. The purple mech’s designation was Shockwave but only to be addressed as Creator. 

His name was Creation - or Bitlet - or both - or neither. 

Then a third presence was added to this whirlwind of disorientation and charge. This one was ordered and logical - cold and blunt. Simultaneously he shuddered away from it and rushed to greet it. The disharmony between himself burned at his core, dual shrieks echoed through the room into dual audials.

Abruptly it ended. Snapped back, he was Bitlet again as his spark seared in its casing. Shackled limbs trembled and jolted as the after shocks of charge jumped under transformation seams. Shockwave disconnected himself, and then Creation from the sensors, his movements now gentle and careful.

"Come my Creation,” he stated as he stroked down the side of Creation’s faceplate then held out a servo for Creation to take, his voice no longer monotone. 

Creation's shaking silver servo grasped lightly against the purple one extended to him, his own limbs struggling to stop twitching as much as Bitlet's. His legs collapsed under him as he moved off the berth, but Shockwave caught him and supported him before he fell. Once he was steady, Shockwave turned to leave the room.

Creation took a few steps after him then he stopped, and glanced back at Bitlet. Something strange tingled and tugged at Bitlet’s spark and he tried to beg Creation to stay, to release him - they should stay together - but he couldn’t get his vocalizer to function.

The feeling was lost when Creation turned and hurried silently after Shockwave so as not to be left behind.

And Bitlet was left laying alone strapped to the berth, chestplate open, sensors still attached, and his special spark exposed.


	3. Creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably unnecessary note, but this chapter happens from Bitlet's point of view and his observations and implied assumptions are creepy. They are creepy because Bitlet is creeped out by all things Shockwave but things between Creation and Shockwave are not precisely as you may assume.

Bitlet was always returned to his carrier with the same instructions: "Keep it functional.”

Shockwave would wait only for a shaky nod from his Carrier in agreement then turn and walk away. 

Bitlet stuck his glossa out at the retreating back of the monster as their energy bar door onlined back into place.

"Bitlet!" His carrier scolded in a whisper. 

Then Bitlet was swept up in loving arms and a loving field would intermingle with his own. As he was inspected for damage he’d answer the normal questions: no he didn't remove anything, no he didn't add anything, no I'm not injured. He just attached wires the way he always does. I’m fine. 

He loathed Shockwave and his treatments and he hated that neighbours would disappear from their rooms. Sometimes mechs would be returned but they didn’t act like the same mech anymore. A previously calm and quiet mech could be returned violent. Bitlet had watched one mech returned and rip apart a friend that they usually cuddled and stroked. Carrier had been recharging again and Bitlet wondered why Shockwave had come to their rooms but apparently was not there for Bitlet. The mech was released from a long pole and tore into his begging and screaming friend until he pulled the spark out of their frame and shoved it into their own. Carrier had lunged to grab Bitlet away from the door, and thought he had blocked Bitlet’s view, but Bitlet had found a space to peek under his arm and watched as the mech had just stood there: violently shoving the dimming spark of his cuddle-friend into his own until they both dimmed and went dark.

Shockwave had watched and simply said “an unexpected result" in his horrifically monotone voice and Carrier had actually swore at him - at _Shockwave_ \- to frag off and get out. His single creepy optic turned in their direction then reset once, and he left. 

Most of the mechs though simply came back withdrawn or broken. Their fields were the worst. Bitlet hated feeling them against his own, Carrier’s was the best but sometimes it hurt too, especially when Carrier’s spark was hurting again. The more he could keep the mechs around him entertained and laughing, the less their fields felt stifling against him. The new neighbour across from Bitlet's room had a transparent material covering his processor. Bitlet had stared at the internal workings of the mech’s processor while the mech recharged until Carrier scolded him for being rude. 

As much as he loathed Shockwave and plotted ways for that mech to be hurt horribly, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the weird shiny silver youngling that followed that monster around like a shadow. He was even as quiet as a shadow. Bitlet didn’t think he could talk and wondered if Shockwave had removed his vocalizer like he sometimes did to Bitlet’s neighbours but he didn’t ask Carrier what he thought about it. After the first few treatments in the new room, Bitlet had learned to stop mentioning or asking questions about the weird shiny silver youngling that looked like him. 

Creation. 

He was _so weird_.

Carrier had become very upset when Bitlet had said that.

The first time he had been returned to the cell after his new treatment with Creation, he had asked Carrier about him, asked why he was so weird. Carrier had keened and held Bitlet close, ventilations hitching, vocalizer spitting static and he refused to allow Bitlet to get up and play with his wire mechs. 

The second time he came back from a treatment beside Creation he had asked: “What kind of weird mech doesn't know how to smile and looks to Shockwave for approval?”

And Carrier had gone onto their berth, turned his back to Bitlet and stared at the wall for many fuel cycles while rubbing the windshield over his spark.

Bitlet had hated Creation for that more than he hated him for leaving him behind. Carrier was sad enough to quietly stare at a wall, Bitlet had been left behind again, and it was all that weird little Creation's fault. And he hated him.

Even so, Bitlet had watched Creation closely every treatment, it was like he couldn’t help it. He would always calmly hook himself up to the equipment while Bitlet always squirmed and struggled to inconvenience Shockwave as much as possible when being hooked up to the same. And Creation always searched for Shockwave's creepy singular optic when he completed, waiting to hear "acceptable" in that creepy monotone voice. Creation stood perfectly still where Bitlet was always moving, shuffling or twitching a pede no matter what he was doing. Carrier said he even kicked in his recharge. But until after the first few of these new treatments in the smaller room, he wouldn't even know Creation was in the room until Shockwave would call him forth. It didn’t take long though, Bitlet learned exactly what to look for and as soon as Shockwave carried him kicking and screaming into the room he would lock his optics directly on Creation.

Creation was always already looking back.

It took a couple more treatments before he discovered something else weird: he couldn’t feel Creation’s field. Bitlet had stretched his out to try and communicate that way but Creation didn’t even twitch his plating and he certainly didn’t reach anything back. Bitlet had felt some of his neighbour mech’s fields go dead before, the fact that Shockwave still walked around with no field was unnerving and creepy. His neighbors with no fields never got up and walked around again.

Field wise, Creation felt just like Shockwave. 

He felt dead.

And it was _wrong_ and Bitlet couldn’t explain why and he couldn’t ask Carrier because mentioning Creation would make Carrier’s spark hurt. Not being able to feel Creation's field was starting to drive Bitlet crazy. He had spent treatment after treatment laying next to him and wildly thrashing his field in his direction trying to get so much as a twitch of recognition. Creation never twitched and never responded with even a secret ghost of a whisper with his own field.

Except now things had changed and Bitlet could feel _something_ from Creation, but it wasn’t coming from his field.

Creation was certainly a weirdo, but he wasn't creepy like Shockwave.

Bitlet rubbed at his chestplate then hastily assured his shrewd optic carrier he was just scratching his plating. His excuse was that he thought they might be due for a bath soon and Carrier tucked him tight because he knew how much Bitlet hated the cold solvent and told him stories about hot pools of oil that couldn't possibly actually exist. Carrier was always watching for signs that Bitlet’s spark hurt. But Bitlet wasn’t exactly lying when he told Carrier that his spark didn’t hurt - it didn’t hurt - but it felt _weird_ , almost like it was itching, and Bitlet had wanted to hate Creation but now he just couldn't.

Not now that he could sometimes feel him itching weirdly in his spark.

These last few treatments had been different. For a long time now it was always the same - side by side with the three wires slowly attached and the feelings of disjointedness that had become easier - but a few treatments ago that changed.

Shockwave had told Creation to merge his spark with Bitlet’s own. 

The first time was terrifying; mechs weren't suppose to stick stuff in a spark, Carrier had yelled at him when he tried once to put one of his wire mechs inside. What happened if another spark touched anothers? Surely his spark was going to dim and extinguish like he had seen happen to the two mechs that were cuddle-friends. 

Was Creation going to tear out his spark and shove it in his own until they both offlined?

Creation had climbed up on top of him, leaned hovering over him and stared down into his optics while Shockwave was busy with his machines. He didn’t seem disturbed at all that Bitlet’s chestplate was forced open and full of wires. In fact he tilted his helm to the side and kept examining Bitlet’s faceplate, as if he was waiting for something. As Bitlet just stared up at him in fear waiting for Creation to tear out his spark, Creation stretched his faceplate into a smile that was identical to the one that Bitlet had given him on the first day they met.

It was identical but it was _weird_.

The smile was there, but it didn’t reach his optics; like he was just copying. In an instant the smile was gone and his faceplate was blank again then Shockwave turned around and told Creation to prepare his spark.

Bitlet started to shake and one of the machines attached to his spark started to beep faster.

When Bitlet watched Creation open his chestplate from where Creation was straddling over top of his frame, the glow of his spark entranced him, and he almost forgot his terror.

Sparks were suppose to be private but Bitlet just couldn’t stop himself from staring at Creation’s and suddenly he was hungry - starving - in a way he had never been because he was always fueled on a regular cycle.

Fuel tanks twisted in revulsion as Creation began to attached wires to his own spark casing, causing Bitlet to tear his focus from Creation’s entrancing spark and looked up to meet Creation’s optics. Creation was staring at him - kept his optics staring at Bitlet’s own as he attached wires to his spark casing without looking - and after he was told his work was acceptable, his own frame started trembling too.

Bitlet figured Creation must have been in pain because he sucked in a sharp invent and gasped.

When Shockwave’s creepy voice told him to proceed, Creation leaned forward and as Bitlet felt his spark jump, reaching eagerly towards Creation’s own, Bitlet was convinced he wasn't going to be returned to Carrier this time. He was going to die as Creation shoved his weird, entrancing spark into Bitlet's special one until they both went dim.

But it had been wonderful, like a part of him that he had never known to be missing had been found. And could _feel_ that Creation was worried he was hurting Bitlet.

He could feel that Creation _liked_ Bitlet. 

Creation enjoyed getting to see him for treatments, loved watching the shapes on Bitlet’s faceplate when Creator wasn’t watching and he wished he didn’t have to leave Bitlet behind every time. Creation had been so excited to sit on top of Bitlet - to be permitted to touch him - that he couldn’t contain himself and started to shake as a pleasant and unexpected charge shot through his systems. 

Yes. Creation liked Bitlet. _A lot._

He liked Bitlet so much that sometimes it hurt and he would get trapped in a feedback loop when he couldn’t quite manage to suppress his emotions about it.

Because underneath that excitement, enjoyment and adoration toward Bitlet and his faceplate shapes; loneliness echoed and gnawed in Creation’s spark and he had a rabid desire to please as he tried to fill it. And he wanted to cry because Bitlet might be deemed a failure but crying was illogical and therefore Unacceptable - being Unacceptable would make the loneliness worse as he was locked away. And then he would cry because Bitlet would be gone _and_ he was lonely and he would keep crying because he was lonely and locked away and there would be no Bitlet to think about as he practiced making faceplate shapes because he had been deemed a failure, so he would cry and Creation would never be deemed Acceptable enough to be released so he would never fulfill his purpose so he couldn’t cry because crying was illogical and if he started that chain of Unacceptable behaviour he could not predict a way he would ever be deemed Acceptable again - He’d be stuck in a loop of Unacceptable behaviour that fed off each other and he couldn’t see a logical solution to stop if he started to cry because then -

Reaching out to comfort Creation and his half formed and weird lumpy repeating panic felt natural. Bitlet wrapped his essence around him as their sparks sang in sync together; pulsing in their joy. There was no more loneliness, no more fear, no more repetitive panic. There was nothing else but them and they went to sync deeper, but then a cold presence seeped into their merge. Bitlet had reared up to attack the invasion but Creation cut him off sharply and welcomed it in, pulsing encouragement. 

The discord between them cause their merge to destabilize and they screeched as they fell out of sync. Their sparks abruptly separated and returned to their casings.

Bitlet had never felt so incomplete.

Creation was venting hard on top of him, his plating felt hot but his optics remained locked on Bitlet even as he struggled to remain propping himself up. He was so beautiful and Bitlet tried to reach out to touch Creation's faceplate but his arm wouldn’t lift, and he remembered he was restrained. A light purple servo entered his field of view and stroked down the side of Creation's face in Bitlet's place. Creation’s optics left Bitlet’s for the first time since he straddled him and he focused completely on the intruder - then practically nuzzled into the monster’s servo.

Bitlet wanted to stab Shockwave straight in his creepy single optic for causing such longing and hope to appear on Creation's normally vacant faceplate. Creation wasn’t copying one of Bitlet's expressions. It was the first, real, independent expression Bitlet had seen from Creation and it should have been directed to _him_.

That expression was for Bitlet, and a red hot coil wormed its way into his spark to have it stolen.

"Come my Creation.” Shockwave's words carried more inflected emotion than Bitlet had ever heard from the monster, and Creation hastily disconnected himself from the wires, closed his chestplate then hurried to follow on shaky legs.

Bitlet screamed and raged against his restraints as Creation followed this extra creepy Shockwave. 

“Don’t touch him,” he frothed and lashed out with his field, promising pain. “He’s _mine_!”

Creation had stopped looking back at Bitlet left alone, spark bared, after their third treatment together. But this time he looked back, and Bitlet saw him place a digit over his mouth indicating silence. And something comforting and hopeful wormed momentarily in his spark causing Bitlet to stop and still.

Then Shockwave placed a single digit under Creation’s chin and guided his attention gently back toward him so he stared into his creepy optic. And whatever comfort and hope Bitlet felt in his spark snapped abruptly away as Creation shot Shockwave a brilliant smile that was a perfect reflection of the one Bitlet had given Creation the first day he saw him. Shockwave seemed to think Creation had formed it right because he told Creation it was acceptable, and a tremor shook Creation’s frame again.

Shockwave placed his servo on Creation’s shoulder and he practically melted against the monster as they walked away. 

Creation was _so weird._

Bitlet realized that Creation actually _liked_ these treatments. He liked when Shockwave used his extra creepy no longer monotone voice.

Creation liked extra creepy Shockwave. A lot.

And Bitlet really really wanted to hate Creation for that. 

Except he couldn’t hate him, because something demanded in his spark that they belonged together. 

As Carrier continued to wrap Bitlet in his arms after his third treatment with a spark merge, Bitlet could feel Creation's weird little presence, perfectly still and quiet, in the background of his spark. But Bitlet had learned where to look to know exactly where Creation was shortly after their first few treatments together.

So Bitlet poked him.

He didn't get a response - not even a shuffle or a twitch of surprise - but Bitlet kept poking. Because Creation was Bitlet’s weirdo, and Bitlet didn't like when Creation didn't pay attention to him.

Plus Bitlet loved the feel of poking buttons to see what they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do it Sideswipe poke the buttons! Poke ALL THE BUTTONS!


	4. The Pattern of Pings

Carrier was recharging again, and Bitlet was playing with his new shuttle wire mech and his friends by the bars of his room exploring the surface of Luna 1 where his neighbors could see, when he felt a foreign cold focused concentration emanate in his spark.

He didn’t like it, so he pinged Creation sharply through their connection. Creation had a habit of going completely quiet and still along their connection, hovering distantly in the background, sometimes hovering distantly around the emotions he must feel from Bitlet. 

When the connection had first appeared between them, Bitlet had kept looking around himself like he was being watched. Then he figured out where to look, and he just knew Creation was watching him silently and completely still in his spark. And Bitlet liked the thought that Creation was paying attention to him. The feeling of being watched lasted only a few fueling cycles then dissipated.

Fortunately Carrier had been recharging but the mech across from him with the transparent helm covering had watched, field wrapping Bitlet in comfort and concern as Bitlet curled himself as tight as he could protect this precious, secret thing that had appeared between him and Creation. The loss of it was horrible and Bitlet had been unable to stop a whimper as he tried desperately to keep hold of it. He swore he felt Creation reaching back but then it disintegrated and there was nothing but a raw and empty ache. 

Carrier onlined at his keens and hitching ventillations so as an excuse Bitlet said he wished to see the outside world. That excuse always worked with Carrier, he would go quiet and give Bitlet a pained look then hold him close and tell him stories. The comfort of his carrier’s field intermingled among his own helped with the loss of his precious and fragile connection to Creation, but it didn’t replace it. 

With their first tentative connections, Bitlet discovered he could send little pings - and it didn’t make any sense at all because a mech shouldn’t actually flick or poke at a spark but that’s what it felt like - like Bitlet was flicking and poking his figurative spark digits at Creation’s own spark to strum out a ping.

At the start Bitlet sent little spaced out pings along the connection and after three fueling cycles worth of effort, he could tell that Creation was trying to ignore them, but he started twitching with each ping. A few fuel cycles later, Creation had sent back a single hesitant ping of his own. Of course that only encouraged Bitlet and he started to ping more rapidly, then he started to ping out patterns. Creation would send a single, periodic ping in response, but that was enough for Bitlet to know he had Creation's attention. 

The loss of the ability to ping Creation’s spark was always horrible when it disintegrated away, and each time Bitlet felt like he had lost a part of himself that he feared might never return. He never got use to it.

Then one time, after they merged, Bitlet could feel Creation’s _emotions_ for fuel cycles. 

The first emotion Bitlet felt from Creation was irritation.

He had been squirming across his floor, playing with his wire mechs, pretending he was a rust-slug from the Sea of Rust on the hunt while sending patterns of pings to Creation. At first he paused and looked at his carrier but he still sleeping again, so were most of the other mechs so it wasn’t coming from their fields. Shrugging, he started rust-slugging and pinging Creation again, and received a single sharp ping along with the irritation, then complete stillness.

A smile stretched wide across Bitlet's faceplate, because now he knew exactly where to look along his connection, and he invented a new game.

Originally, when he sent his emotions to Creation as he played, he only received those sharp irritated pings in return. But that wasn’t what Bitlet wanted. Always persistent, Bitlet continued his emotional assault until the irritation morphed into discouragement, then there were undertones of curiosity. That curiosity was enough and Bitlet pounced upon it before Creation could squash it, back away, and go quiet and try to hide again. And that was when Creation had started to carefully hover around his emotions and Bitlet could feel his attention on him.

Bitlet basked in it.

The loss of their connection once they could feel each other’s emotions was worse than the loss of the ability to send simple pings and Bitlet hadn’t thought that possible. Their link started to disintegrate before he was suppose to be in recharge and Bitlet struggled to hold onto it, tucked in Carrier’s arms, while Creation struggled to do the same. Eventually Bitlet became too exhausted from his internal struggle that he slipped into recharge. As the connection finally disintegrated away he onlined abruptly just in time feel Creation still stubbornly struggling to hold it on his own, but as Bitlet tried to help again, the tentative remnants sifted through his grasp.

Bitlet had cried, keened and told Carrier he wished to see outside as Carrier wrapped his loving field around him, but the void in his spark still gnawed and he feared he would never be whole.

After their next merge the connection returned and Bitlet enjoyed sending his silly amusement and other benign emotions to Creation who would hover around them distantly, and seemed worried that if he got too close he would cause the connection to shatter. Creation seemed especially careful as Bitlet sent him what he felt when he played with his wire mechs. 

There were hundreds of wire mechs that rattled around in his subspace and it was difficult to send them all on regular adventures. He had separated them out into groups of friends based on personalities that would hang out with each other depending on the adventure. He had favorites of course, Mischief always has a special place in his spark and his new wire shuttle mech was rapidly making it up the ranks of favourites because he had told Bitlet stories of space that Carrier had never had. Mischief, of course, hung out with his best friends Sunstreaker and his twin Sideswipe. Often the three of them would go visit the homes of the other wire mechs spread out around Bitlet’s room, go to each group’s parties, and they would talk about things Bitlet had never seen. 

They would visit the crystal gardens of Praxus under the berth, where he had hidden an empty energon cube way at the back that Carrier never found, and he would feel Creation nudge closer in interest. And as Bitlet leapt on his and Carrier’s berth, they would climb high into the sky of the seeker city of Vos. Mischief was a flight frame, so he would invite them over to his place, and they leapt from the high towers together.

Except one time, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had missed the roof they were aiming for, and Mischief had eventually gotten Sunstreaker to land on him in Mischief’s flight mode. But Sideswipe had been left with a problem: there wasn’t enough room for both of the twins to ride on Mischief. So he screamed as he fell end over end, and when he almost hit the ground, Creation had come as close as he had ever been to Bitlet’s emotions and pulsed concern. In the last klick, Bitlet decided Sideswipe had a jetpack and it roared to life as Bitlet made whoosing noises. Relief pulsed back to Bitlet, and he pulsed joy to Creation along their connection as Sideswipe flew back up to be level with his brother and their best friend.

His twin wire mechs were his absolute favourites, and it was a close call, but he liked Sunstreaker slightly more than Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was the quieter of the two, but he could be a riot if a mech knew how to listen, which of course Bitlet did. His twins had been his first wire mechs that Carrier had created for Bitlet and he didn’t remember a time when he didn’t have them. Carrier had named them and had made up stories about them all of Bitlet’s life. 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were special split-spark twins that lived in the outside world together and they were happy. Their creators were just regular split-sparks and they doted on them and made sure they had the best experiences life could offer. Carrier loved to make up stories about Sideswipe and Sunstreaker - they were strong, confident, adventurous, and they laughed and teased each other a lot. They would pull pranks, which is why they always hung out with Mischief, and they would get in so much trouble together - but the good kind of trouble. Not the kind of trouble Bitlet got in when he had tried to shove Sunstreaker into his special spark for safe keeping because he was the best. The kind of trouble that made the mechs around him laugh when Bitlet would learn a new curse word and Carrier would scold him. 

Carrier said Bitlet's special twins loved life, they loved each other, and their creators very much. 

The field that would wrap around Bitlet as Carrier told him these stories was amazing, but occasionally it tinged with intense loss and Bitlet wondered if Carrier had ever known Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in real life like Bitlet knew the mechs who given him their wires. He wondered if the real life Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had given their wires to Carrier to give to Bitlet so he could send them on adventures too.

He had asked once, but Carrier had laid down, said his spark was hurting again and stared at the wall.

Most of the time though, a fond smile would grace Carrier’s faceplate when he watched him play with his favourite twin wire mechs, and sometimes his optics would become unfocused as if lost in the world of his stories and Bitlet’s games. 

Carrier’s optics had started to lose focus a lot lately.

After many more spark merge treatments he and Creation had formed a tentative emotional connection that hadn’t yet disintegrated and Bitlet could feel that it was almost time for another spark merge treatment. He could _feel_ that Creation was definitely excited, and so was Bitlet, because for the first time he’d be able to _see_ Creation as well as feel him when they weren’t merged. Creation had tossed him a quick, genuine, lopsided smile when he straddled over him last and Bitlet desperately wanted to feel it. The sight had made Bitlet’s spark sing and hum in pleasure, and Shockwave hadn’t even had to force his chestplating to retract, it did it on its own.

Best of all, Shockwave hadn't even noticed Creation’s special smile and the smile Creation gave to Shockwave after their merge hadn’t been the same one he’d given to Bitlet.

Creation had a secret special smile only for Bitlet and that felt _right._

Now though, Creation had backed away from their connection, and it had gone cold when he should have been feeling Bitlet explore Luna 1. Creation felt intensely focused on something so Bitlet sent another sharp ping demanding his attention, because he didn’t like that cold feeling. Some of that cold lifted from their connection but it was replaced with irritation. Irritation wasn’t what he wanted but now that he had Creation’s attention he sent a playful ping pattern. Creation would always respond to that now with the conclusion of how he thought the pattern should end and Bitlet would repeat the pattern if he was wrong. It was a fun game and Bitlet loved it the few times Creation shyly initiated the game himself. This time he only received frustration in response. 

So Bitlet repeated the playful pattern of pings again because frustration was the wrong answer and Creation was suppose to try again. To that he received a single sharp ping in response then that cold, focus permeated their bond again. Pausing to consider that Creation seemed to want to be left alone, he wondered what he could possibly be doing that required so much focus. When Bitlet wasn’t in treatments, he was at home with his carrier, playing with his wire mechs, listening to stories while cuddling, or trying to make the others laugh. What could his weirdo possibly be up to when not in treatments? 

The answer to that of course was he was with Shockwave. Creation trailed after him like a shadow, casting hopeful glances from his corner when he didn’t think Shockwave was looking. When he attached the sensors to his spark in the earlier treatments he looked focused. 

Bitlet didn’t like the idea at all that Creation was attaching sensors to his spark in front of Shockwave without Bitlet there. 

He sent the pattern again. 

Then again.

And again.

The pattern changed from playful to urgent and he just kept sending it with barely a pause between to wait for a response. He needed Creation’s focus on him, Shockwave couldn’t have Creation’s focus. 

Creation was Bitlet’s weirdo. 

Entirely focused on getting a reaction, Bitlet felt that cold focus recoil deeper and redoubled his efforts. When he finally got a response it was not an attempt at completing the pattern at all.

//Stop it!// The sudden snarled voice that he heard caused him to yelp with its intensity and pull away from their connection, and he knocked over his wire mechs as he scrambled to standing. Ignoring his carrier who had onlined and rushed behind him, he tried to look out the bars to see where Creation was. Had he come to visit Bitlet in his home? He had to be close, he had just heard him yell at him. Bitlet didn’t even know he could speak, but he knew without a doubt that Creation had just snarled at him. 

But the hallway only contained a drone.

Tentatively he reached out along the connection and Creation was simmering in anger and struggling to regain his focus, there was an undercurrent of fear there, but mostly there was crushing disappointment and shame. Plating clamping tight against his frame, Bitlet realized what he had just done. 

Of course Creation was with Shockwave when not in treatments, and now Bitlet had gotten him in trouble. Sending a hasty apology, Bitlet backed away from the connection. Carrier was trying to get his attention and asking him if his spark hurt and Bitlet just grabbed onto Carrier and started to shake. 

He’d gotten his weirdo in trouble. 

Who knew what that one optic monster did to Bitlet’s weirdo when Bitlet wasn’t around to see, and he hated himself that he never considered it before. Did the monster just stand there and watch as Creation shoved his spark into mechs that weren’t Bitlet? Did he just stand there and state “an unexpected result” with his creepy monotone voice? Or did Creation get put in that larger room with Bitlet’s missing neighbours and was he moaning and screaming in pain? Bitlet recalled how cleared of emotion Creation’s faceplate use to be. He still did it when Shockwave was looking, but since they started spark merging Bitlet had noticed more expression flit across his faceplate more often. The expressions were subtle, and of course often a little weird and not quite right, but… 

Would Creation even be allowed to scream if he was in pain?

What did Shockwave do to Creation when he did something unacceptable that made him clear his faceplate, drop his optics and curl into himself?

Then his final thought made him keen, his vents starting hitching uncontrollably, his vocalizer spit static and he couldn’t bring himself to answer his carrier’s frantic questions when he was so locked up imaging the answers to his own.

Was Shockwave shoving his spark into Creation’s when his voice was extra creepy with inflection? 

Did Creation like that too?

After joors of being inconsolable, Bitlet fell exhausted into recharge with his carrier’s soothing field wrapped around him and snuggled in tight.

When he onlined it was because of a very soft and hesitant pattern of pings against his spark.

At first he thought he had imagined it, and he had almost slipped back into recharge when it tentatively repeated again. The pattern was tinged in worry, concern, desperation and there was always an underlying yearning and crippling loneliness. Responding by completing the pattern, he thought that Creation was letting him off easy. Creation’s patterns were normally quite difficult to determine and would take Bitlet multiple attempts to complete. He took his turn at sending a pattern of pings once he received the double ping that he had finished Creation’s pattern correctly. 

They played cautiously at first, but as their game lasted well into the next fueling cycle, Bitlet knew Creation didn’t blame him. Still, the next time Creation went focused and cold, Bitlet didn’t bother him, he didn’t want to risk his weirdo getting in trouble over something Bitlet did.

When Creation lifted the cold focus that Bitlet hated, he would return to Bitlet by initiating their game of Ping Pattern. And as the time after their last spark merged increased, the emotions disintegrated from their connection, and all that remained between them were their pings. 

But those never faded away. 

After a few more spark merges, and constant patterns of pings between them, their emotional connection never faded either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback already! It has actually helped me break my block on some other chapters that were causing a gap to the rest of the story. I'm glad I started posting now before I completely finished this as I was foolishly resolved to do.
> 
> Next chapter is finally Creation's perspective and you'll get some of the answer's to Bitlet's frantic questions in this one, and I think you are now four chapters away from Autobots.
> 
> Also Sideswipe using his imagination to squirm around on the floor pretending to be a rust-slug chasing after his wire mechs will never cease to amuse me.


	5. Cold, Blunt Logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Canon Character Death  
> *Passes you the tissues and builds you a fort of couch cushions. Also maybe a blanket*
> 
> Creation's POV can be kind of exhausting. He was raised with exclusive interaction with Shockwave so his vocabulary and way he has structured his thoughts are a little odd. 
> 
> I promise Sunstreaker's not like this forever but he has spent his entire function, before Sideswipe, being conditioned in a completely controlled environment by Shockwave for an intended purpose.

Creation failed to stifle a smile at his gift’s antics. 

Normally he tried not to get into the habit of allowing shapes - or _emotional expressions_ rather - to form on his faceplate, but this time he was so hopeful the results of his experiment with Creator were permanent. 

The addition of Subject 253b - or as Creation secretly called him, Bitlet - into his life added a new level of complication that made it difficult for Creation to navigate his clearly defined parameters of Acceptable behaviour. Bitlet’s behaviour was often illogical and when Creation first saw him clawing and struggling against his Creator, he hated him. He hated that Creator had brought in this additional variable to the important experiment he had tasked Creation to assist him in. Hated that results indicated his spark was not enough to achieve his intended purpose. 

Most of all, he hated that he hated it - hatred of results was illogical. 

But Creation was worried he was being replaced. Ashamed that perhaps he had been deemed a conclusive failure. Afraid he was like one of those subjects that did not seem to be able to accept their usefulness had ended and would struggle as the drones tossed them into the smelter, or as Creation separated them to recycle their parts. 

Or maybe if he was a failure, his spark would be divided up into fractions, and placed in multiple other frames that ripped and tore like feral mechs and at others that weren’t themselves. Creator had thousands of those mechs penned off together where they would just all stare blankly at each other until a subject that did not carry a fraction of their original spark was placed nearby, then they would froth and tear at their bars to rip it apart.

During one of his query periods, he had asked why they never reacted to himself, the drones, or Creator when they walked by. Creator had simply responded that he had taken precautions with Creation’s development when he was a sparkling to ensure many of his experiments would not react to him. And Creation extrapolated that answer to remind himself that he was _special_ when he worried he might be tossed into the smelter, or divide up into parts, or have his spark fractured or - there were a lot of experiments he could be used for if he was not irreplaceable.

Once he had earned his access into all the places, except a few, in Creator’s laboratory complex he had explored all the rooms. His Creator was a genius and Creation worshipped him, but sometimes Creation worried that he might just be another experiment that would be assigned a new purpose that was undesirable if he became too Unacceptable. Inevitably his processor would think of those thousands of mechs that never reacted to him, even if he entered their pens. Surrounded by their impassive faceplates and unseeing optics, Creation would wonder if he himself was a drone that was glitching, and thought it was a mech.

For comfort, he would wrap himself in cold hard logic to be like his Creator. He reminded himself that he wasn’t an experiment and he was not a drone. All evidence indicated that Creation was something different - something _else_. There had never been another like him that he could find, and he preened to consider that perhaps he was irreplaceable to his Creator. 

When he was informed about Subject 253b, Creation had secretly simmered in anger. 253b was competition to achieving his purpose. Creation's purpose was everything to him. 

Because Creator was Creation’s entire world. 

Creator had defined his life with a clear set of parameters that were easy to follow: Acceptable or Unacceptable. There was nothing in between.

Being left alone in his quarters was his punishment for Unacceptable behaviour. He hated being alone in his quarters; he was not permitted to touch his mobility equipment without Creator present and it was incredibly lonely. Even when his behaviour had been at its most Unacceptable however, Creator had still come to his quarters to perform daily functional assessments and to inspect him for damage and glitches.

Creation loved that time with his Creator. Tracking his Creator eagerly through each systems, he practiced in his processor what system was being analyzed and attempted to predict his Creator’s conclusion of his current function before him. The cycle Creation had discovered a forming glitch and had detected it before Creator he’d been so proud. Of course he reported it before the diagnostic was complete. Creation was permitted to speak at any time if he was reporting damage and he was always eager for a chance to speak to his Creator.

Damage was to be reported immediately. Damage to Creation was defined as Unacceptable.

The diagnostic every cycle was also one of the only times that Creator would touch him without experiencing the results of their personal experimental.

There were three situations Creation had complied in which Creator touched him: if he was damaged and required repairs, during his function diagnostics, and his favourite, after experiencing positive results from their personal experiment.

Creation worked hard to never become Unacceptable, so he had become good at avoiding becoming damaged. He watched the experimental subjects on their examinations tables closely for sudden movements after he had been touched unexpectedly in the past. 

His behaviour had required Creator to terminate the subject before its purpose was achieved to retrieve him and that, plus the damage Creation had received, had left him locked in his quarters to contemplate his error for - he wasn’t certain how long. Creator would always order him to disable his chronometer when he was punished and prohibit him from turning it back on for some time after he was released. He had activated it once, in Unacceptable defiance, and attempted to hide it, so Creator had assigned him an especially difficult objective to fulfill with an seeker frame, taken all of Creation’s notes, and refused to offer guidance.

Creator had informed him that since he had taken an interest in his chronometer then he was to time how long it took for him to complete his task. Diagraming all of the seeker’s frame components, while keeping it functional during the entire process, had taken him eight cycles, three joors, and forty-seven klicks precisely.

It had been especially difficult to achieve Acceptable results with the difficult seeker frame internal component locations he had not yet been instructed in. He had made a number of errors in replacing components he had removed to access others, and the subject had escaped its restraints two times before he had successfully removed its limbs and contained it. The damage he had received to himself in the process was Unacceptable and he laid perfectly still in silent shame as Creator repaired him afterward. 

Creator’s extensive repairs were excruciating and best avoided. Eventually, as Creation’s skills grew, he had been rewarded with permission to perform minor repairs on himself, provided Creator supervised of course. Those were more tolerable.

But during Creation’s functional diagnostics every cycle, his wrist would be held in his Creator’s servo throughout the entire process and it made his spark spin faster and twist in excitement at the feel of the warm plating of another. 

Then Creator would watch, his solitary optic following Creation’s every movement, as he performed his assigned, and now complicated, mobility sequence that was designed for Creator to assess the status of his joints, lines, and cables. For as long as Creation could remember, his quarters had a large elevated platform that Creator would fill with a sequence of bars, hoops, and marks on the floor and he would leap, swing, spin and dart to each new location in the series he was assigned. 

As he performed for his Creator, his spark would spin, pulse and leap with exaltation. Then when he completed, he would stand as motionless as his heaving ventilation would allow, and wait for that single word around which his entire existence hinged.

Acceptable.

He never tired of earning that praise.

Creator had given him many gifts over the vorns when his behaviour was Acceptable: his lessons every few cycles, permission to order the drones to bring suitable subjects to practice at his current skill level, permission to observe in the labs as Creator worked. He had been granted permission to wander where he wished with the sole exceptions to never leave the laboratory complex, directly enter the subject storage rooms, or a few isolated experiments that Creator had deemed Unacceptable for him to approach due to the statistical risk of permanent damage. 

The corner in his Creator's office to watch as he compiled the cycle’s results came later, as did his mat in the corner of his Creator’s quarter’s next to the platform where he now performed his mobility assessments if he was acting Acceptably. 

Until this latest gift that was to be stored in his own quarters, the mat in the corner of his Creator’s quarters had been Creation’s favourite place to go. 

When he had been granted that mat he thought his spark might burst from the sudden joy, though of course he did not show it. That would have been Unacceptable in his Creator’s current state. Creator allowed him to follow him everywhere for half a vorn and then had gifted him his mat to show that his behaviour was Acceptable and that he was no longer required to recharge alone in his own quarters.

Then Creator had deemed his quiet behaviour on his mat during recharge Acceptable and he had confided in him the objective of Creation’s purpose: Creator use to be able to experience emotions. He expressed an academic curiosity on what it might be like to feel, could recall that he had once felt emotions, but could not describe one from the other.

His emotional capacity had been removed along with his ability to express them and his helm was replaced with his current one containing his singular optic. On an academic level, Creator understood that he should be angry at the Senate but he simply was not. Creator explained that he understood perfectly that mechs enjoyed emotions. He himself had memories of enjoying emotions but he simply felt nothing when he review them. 

What his Creator did feel was curiosity. Curiosity was the foundation of science and his Creator aimed to solve that in which he did not understand and followed the most logical direction to prove or disprove any hypothesis he considered. 

During this explanation Creation had been permitted a rare moment to ask questions, even though it was not the designated time, and he expressed that he thought what had been done to his Creator was abhorrent. Standing tall with pride, his Creator told him that he was already on his way to fulfilling his purpose in response.

That his Creator was more efficient with his scientific discoveries without his emotions was irrefutable. The desired result of this personal experiment was not for his Creator to gain emotions: it was for his Creator to be able to _experience emotions_ , in a controlled environment, when he so chosed. 

Privately.

The reason Creation existed, his purpose, was to be a surrogate for his Creator’s emotions. 

Creation was to teach his Creator’s spark how to hear Creation’s own emotions though a spark bond so he could feel them.

The logic for Creation’s isolation and his behavioural parameters became clear: Creation needed to be able to control his emotions so that when his Creator finally succeeded in proving his hypothesis correct, Creation did not become a distraction and impede his Creator’s efficient scientific progress. 

And Creation agreed that was logical.

To learn that his Creator wanted to care for Creation but simply lacked the capacity, was horrifying to him and he hated the Senate for what they had done and ultimately taken away from the both of them.

During each procedure, Creation would try to establish a bond with his Creator through the hardline connection between their sparks, but his Creator could rarely hear him for long. The results of being able to feel from Creation barely lasted a quarter of a joor at best. Creation had suggested that perhaps they could try a spark merge he had read about in Creator's files, and Creator had informed him that the Senate had also removed the natural ability of forming a spark bond from him. 

His spark was simply no longer capable of it. 

Bringing it up again during a designated query time, Creator explained that he had already exhausted that experiment before Creation. Attempting to explain his logic, that Creation was something _else_ \- but did not say special because that would be illogical - Creation reasoned that Creator had not tried to spark merge with his Creation and maybe it would work. Creator had simply stated that it would not and prohibited him from bringing up the topic again.

When Creator had explained that their repeated failures of just the two of them lead him to conclude that the addition of a separate spark was required, Creation had privately despaired that he had failed his purpose. 

And he hated the Unacceptably scratched and dented frame that housed the spark that provided competition for his Creator’s eventual affection.

But when Subject 253b’s Unacceptably dingy and scuffed faceplate had morphed into that brilliant new shape, as Creation was climbing onto the examination table beside him, Creation’s spark had spun faster, pulsed and twisted. Feeling like he had just performed a mobility assessment for his Creator, he attempted to make the shape back. 

Despite his Creator deeming his behaviour Unacceptable, Creation had adored Bitlet instantly in that moment and watched eagerly for more new shapes from him that made his spark race.

Once Bitlet had come into Creation’s life, he found shapes making their way onto his faceplate as if he could no longer control them when he thought of him. And collecting and categorizing Bitlet’s faceplate shapes was a secret personal experiment of Creation’s. He thought he could surprise his Creator with them when he was able to hear Creation sing emotions in his spark.

Creation had learned that word from Bitlet during one of their first merges. They didn’t often gain memories of each other’s lives, but sometimes certain new words would stick in Creation’s processor once they separated.

Sing. 

Bitlet made Creation’s spark sing with emotion and excitement. And after that first merge, Creator started to be able to hear his Creation’s songs for short periods of time.

When Creation reported in his results on the bond formation, that he now felt that something was missing from his spark, Creator had assured him that was an anticipated side effect of his spark merge with Subject 253b. Should they succeed he continued, Creation’s spark would begin to feel whole again when he performed for his Creator.

As he sung his emotions to his Creator from his spark, his processor was often replaying memories and feelings from Bitlet. Now that he felt Bitlet constantly though their spark bond, Creation eagerly practiced his new shapes in his mirror when he was punished and reminded himself of his purpose. The shapes his faceplate made while he engaged in their sequencing and series pattern exercise along their bond were some of the best, and he even made some new ones he had never seen all on his own.

Bitlet had loved the one Creation had shown him and he could hardly wait until he was permitted to show all his shapes to Creator too. 

But that one shape, he had Unacceptably decided would be for Bitlet alone.

Because Creation had been keeping a secret from his Creator. 

He had not fully reported the results of the spark bond formation between Bitlet and himself. Briefed on the procedure Creation knew the goal was to establish a spark bond with Subject 253b, so during their merges Creator could observe and learn the patterns between their bond. However Creator had instructed him to be still, quiet and unnoticed in the bond to Subject 253b when not performing the procedure. Subject 253b was not to be made consciously aware of their spark bond. If 253b became aware of their bond, Creation was not to engage with it and report directly to his Creator.

Creator had expected Creation to act Acceptably. 

And Creation had tried so hard to act Acceptably, but he couldn’t seem to find any place to stand still along their bond where Bitlet wouldn’t poke. And Bitlet was relentless with his poking assaults. Creation had sent a hesitant poke back and waited for his Creator to come and inform him that he had been Unacceptable. 

But as he began to poke back more frequently, and sometimes even when Creator was in the room, Creation concluded that Creator’s always observant optic could not see this bond between himself and Bitlet. 

When Bitlet first started to ooze his emotions all over Creation’s spark, he thought he was deactivating and had turned run to inform his Creator that he had been omitting results. 

Fortunately he had been alone and checking the processor additions he had made to his preferred subject, 7241, and it had simply narrowed its optics at him when Creation had started vibrating uncontrollably. Then a noise he had never heard burst out of his vocalizer, and his preferred subject told him to stop and look at him - when he had turned to the intercom to tell Creator he was damaged - informed him that he was only laughing and defined that term for him.

Irritated that Bitlet had caused him to behave Unacceptably, he had widened his side of the bond and poked him hard back once trying to get him to stop.

Instead of stopping however, Bitlet descended upon Creation’s spark with an unbridled emotional assault and he had to Unacceptably run to his quarters and hide the shapes he could no longer control on his faceplate. He was fortunate Creator had been focused on observing his cosmic rust subjects, Creation was not permitted to approach that sector of the laboratory, or he might have known instantly that Creation had been behaving Unacceptably with Bitlet where his optic couldn’t observe.

The next time Bitlet attacked him relentlessly with emotion, Creation had been focusing on a difficult task that was assigned to him, and his Creator had been watching his progress. 

Attempting to distance himself from his bond, and Bitlet’s constant background noise, he emulated his Creator to wrap himself in logic. But Bitlet was relentless for his attention and couldn’t take the hint, so Creation had ultimately snapped at him. But the damage had been done, he had become distracted and the anger had made its way known onto his faceplate. He had irreparably damaged the subject, and Creator had deemed it Unacceptable. Terminating the subject, Creator instructed Creation to deactivate his chronometer to contemplate his error in his quarters.

Originally he simmered, angry at Bitlet but ultimately the loneliness of his quarters became too much and he feared that perhaps Bitlet would never interact with him again. He worried that Bitlet may never forgive him for activing so Unacceptably with him along their bond. When that panic became too much, he initiated a hesitant session of sequencing and series pattern exercises. Bitlet didn’t respond right away and Creation’s spark had sunk; he had almost started crying. Trying a second and final time before he was resolved to be still and quiet from now on, he was relieved when Bitlet responded and repeated with a sequence and series pattern of his own.

Bitlet stayed and practiced their sequence and series pattern exercises the entire time he was in his quarters where Creator thought he was behaving Acceptably and where he should have been contemplating his error. That Bitlet had allowed him to correct the error of his behaviour toward him and stayed with him as he was shut away, meant the world to Creation.

Creation loved being able to feel Bitlet in his spark. It was almost like he had his own personal emotional surrogate assistant to practice forming songs with. Bitlet was so illogical and sent the strangest combinations of emotions, sequences, and series that Creation had never considered.

Looking at his latest gift, Creation stifled a laugh. He was so illogical too.

The results of the experiment were reaching a conclusion that Creation could hardly allow himself to dare desire. 

_His purpose._ He thought as he held his gift close. _He was fulfilling his purpose._

After latest treatment results from the spark merge with Bitlet, Creator had gifted him something that Creation treasured more than all his other gifts combined. 

Creator had gifted him a pet, and even defined that term for him. 

When he had brought Creation to his breeding laboratory for his Insecticon hybrid initiative, Creation had been confused when Creator entered the failed experiment room and returned with one of his smallest Bionic Organic Breeders that was slated for termination and recycle. The small ones were always rejected results. Creator was selectively breeding for size and increased aggression now that the hybrids could successfully process organic material into low grade energon for their systems. 

Then Creation’s spark sunk as he was informed that his emotions from the previous evening as he lay in his Creator’s arms, had been Unacceptable. Unexpectedly, instead of ordering Creation to his quarters to reflect on his error he was not aware he had made, Creator’s tone had softened and stated that he realized Creation was _lonely_.

Creation gave his pet the designation of Bob - or increasingly illogically, silly bug. He observed that Bitlet’s illogical emotions, and sequences and series were quite transmittable to himself at times and it was becoming difficult to act Acceptably. 

Bob was strange, adorable, he _wiggled_ , and his entire existence in Creation’s life should have been illogical as Bob served no purpose other than to ensure Creation did not get _lonely_. They had only been together two cycles so far but it was the best two cycles of Creation’s existence. Bob was the best gift from his Creator because this was the first gift Creator had given him out of emotion.

Their experiment was working! 

He gently stroked and wiggled his digits on Bob's belly and the reject from Creator's experiment with Insecticons hybrids flipped over and demanded firmer touches on his helm. Creation had never felt so loved, and he felt as if his spark might burst even though he sang his joy to Bitlet, aching to be near him to help relieve the pressure and feel whole.

For three cycles now Creator had allowed Creation to snuggle into berth with him and actually applauded after his mobility exercises. Creation had stood abruptly still at the sound of his Creator clapping his servos together, uncertain what it meant, but Creator defined it for him and Creation was pleased. Best of all, he had been calling him _My Creation_ instead of simply Creation. He use to only do that for a joor or two after the procedure.

This last procedure’s results had lasted three whole cycles. 

"Maybe this time there won't be any more procedures,” he whispered hopefully to the hybridized Insecticon as he hugged Bob tight to his frame. His silly bug wiggled and chirred as if in agreement. 

And maybe now Creation could tell Creator that he had been interacting with Bitlet almost constantly over their spark bond. It wasn’t alway nudged open wide enough for Creation to sing, but Bitlet seemed to keep his side of the bond open with abandon and sang his emotions at Creation almost constantly. 

He had feared Creator would find this side effect of the procedure an unanticipated result and terminate Bitlet - and the thought of Bitlet being terminated was so Unacceptable it created a feedback loop of predicted Unacceptable behaviour anytime he considered it. Creation had panicked he would never be able to fulfill his purpose as none of his songs would ever be deemed Acceptable for his Creator’s emotional surrogate, so he had omitted it in his summary of his results. 

Also omitted was how he had repeatedly snuck silently onto Creator’s berth while Creator was in recharge when the pain of the bond disintegrating between Bitlet and himself had been too great. Hovering as close as possible to feel the heat off his Creator’s frame had helped some, but he illogically wished he could be held. When Creator had onlined at his predictable interval, Creation had already moved back to his mat. 

But the first time Creator had noticed instantly that Creation had scooted his mat closer precisely one mechanometer. All it took was for Creator to simply reset his optic at him and Creation moved it back immediately. That was his solitary warning he would receive to stop an Unacceptable behaviour. He never risked moving his mat again, he refused to be so Unacceptable that he would lose it in addition to his spark bond with Bitlet. 

Bob wiggled up against him again, drawing Creation out of a feedback loop of predicting Unacceptable behaviour if he lost his connection to Bitlet _and_ his mat before he could panic.

Smiling again, he hugged Bob tight as he imagined how much Bitlet would love Bob when they finally got to meet. They both wiggled, they were both adorable, they were both so illogical and Creation desperately wanted both of them in his Creator’s quarters with him. His Creator had chuckled at Bob last cycle because of how Bob made Creation feel, he predicted that Creator would adore Bitlet as well.

Widening their spark bond between them he shared a melody with all his excitement and hope along it for Bitlet to share. Bitlet was delighted to feel it, as he had been simultaneously basking, darting, skipping, and tunneling through Creation’s loudly broadcast emotions in the illogical way that only Bitlet could do.

Logically, he _knew_ three cycles were not enough to form a conclusion but he wanted this life more than anything. Before Bitlet, he thought his entire purpose would be complete with simply Creator - Creator and the Acceptables he craved had been all Creation had desired. 

Now with the supporting evidence of Bob into his life, and his positive effect on his emotions, Creator must also conclude how happy Bitlet made Creation and he would _have to_ gift Bitlet to him too. Creation extrapolated that it was now Acceptable for him to form an attachment beyond Creator-

The door to his quarters cycled open and Creation turned to finally report to his Creator about his feedback loop glitch he had developed since he had met Bitlet and how it was predicted to interfere in his purpose, leading to uncontrollable Unacceptable behaviour if he was not permitted Bitlet as an emotional gift. The glitch had remained undetected during his functional assessments, and Creation had been relieved that Bitlet would not be terminated for damaging him. Since Bob’s presence had offered an Acceptable solution to break him out of the loop, he reasoned he would no longer have to hide it. He truly did not mind being alone in his quarters if he had his silly bug with him and it would be even better to have Bitlet. 

“Creation."

At that single word delivered in his monotone voice the Senate had forced upon him, Creation quickly cleared his faceplate so it was blank and he snapped his mouth shut. Speaking without permission when Creator was like this was Unacceptable. 

"Come. It is time for your lessons."

Standing quickly and quietly he went to exit the room but Bob scurried to join. The noise of his scampering pedes caused Creation to panic. Creator would not tolerate Bob in the laboratory and Creation had been too busy enjoying his company and running simulations of all that he desired, that he had not predicted this outcome. He should have taken the time to train Bob to stay and be still. 

"Bob, no. You have to stay here." He whispered as he tried to push the rambunctious Insecticon hybrid back into his room. He was small for his breed but he was still large compared to Creation, and he was heavy. Sensing that his Creator was watching him, his spark sank and his plating clamped tight as he struggled to push Bob back into his quarters. And he could feel himself starting to glitch in front of his Creator. This was Unacceptable Unacceptable Unacceptable Unacceptable Unacceptable Unaccept-

"Clarify why you refer to this failed experiment as…Bob," Creator requested. 

Creation’s growing panic generated by a feedback loop of being left alone and crying in his room and deemed a failure when he could no longer behave acceptably, relaxed a little. The results may not have stuck but Creator was showing and interest in something Creation had said outside of his designated instruction and query time, nor had he rest his optic at him, that could only be a positive result. Right?

"Bob-" As soon as Creation said his name his silly bug started to wiggle excitedly and he stifled a smile, forgetting all about his feedback loop. He really was such a smart bug to already know his name. "It is short for Bionic Organic Breeder,” Creation explained the logic behind his chosen designation for his gift. It was not quite an illogical designation, he had simply shortened the name of the subject.

Creator stared at the wiggling Insecticon hybrid Creation was trying desperately to hold back. Then he looked at Creation’s plating and Creation realized he had compounded his error.

“You are damaged, that is Unacceptable.” His Creator stated.

Creation flinched, he had not reported his damage immediately - Bob had only scratched and nibbled at his plating. 

And he knew better but he tried anyway because Bob meant so much, “It is superficial damage. The scratches will buff out if I am permitted the-” He cut himself off when his Creator's single optic reset at him and defaulted to being absolutely still as he awaited further instruction. 

Silence stretched between them for a few klicks, interrupted only by Bob’s shuffling attempts to get out the door.

"Bring it.” His Creator stated, breaking the silence along with Creation’s spark. “It shall serve as this cycle’s subject for your lesson since you have taken an interest in it." Creator had already turned to walk down the hall knowing Creation would follow. 

Bitlet was pinging him along their bond with frantic concern. _No. no please._ He wanted to beg. But begging always made it worse for the subjects and Creation could not bare his predicted results if he compounded his Unacceptable behaviour further. 

"Bob come,” he managed to whisper. 

As Bob - no the failed Insecticon hybrid experiment, wiggled and darted around his pedes down the hall in excitement, Creation tried not to watch. He distanced himself from his emotions and feelings as he prepared himself for today's lesson.

He didn’t beg when the failed Insecticon hybrid eagerly jumped up onto the examination table when prompted. Nor when it rolled over on command.

Begging always made it worse.

As he strapped his subject down, he shut Subject 253b of his connection and tied the bond tight as he focused on the objective he had been assigned to explore. He could not permit the distraction of it to ooze its illogical emotions all over his spark.

Creation had learned long ago, before Bitlet entered his world, that the only way for him to escape a feedback loop of Unacceptable behaviour predictions when his Creator was like this, was to make himself as Acceptable as possible with hard, blunt logic. 

Eventually, he could no longer feel the panic or repetitions of Unacceptable in his processor as emulating his Creator soothed him.

When he began the procedure he made inquiries and tested the hypothesis he was assigned to explore. Under his Creator’s focused single optic guidance, he didn’t beg as the subject screeched; he recorded results. As he strived to hear the word he lived for from his Creator, he didn’t beg as its multiple optics kept looking at him for help; he generated his results into a conclusion.

Begging was illogical.

It took precisely three cycles seven joors and five klicks to earn his solitary Acceptable. 

Begging would have made it at least seven cycles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOB I'M SO SORRY!  
> I promise you are happy and the best therapy bug for Sunstreaker you can possibly be in my other story to make it up to you.
> 
> Also I lied in reviews apparently, no more info on Carrier this time, there is more next time and I'm sticking in either a Shockwave POV in and upcoming chapter because you only got Creation's POV of the experiment and his purpose which is not precisely all of it.


	6. Terror Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this split-spark twin headcanon was inspired by author ntldr who introduced me to the concept of the split spark twins syncing along their bond, and I took it and ran with it to a ridiculous proportion because I loved it so much.

Shockwave observed Creation closely as he vivisected and catalogued the internals of the rejected Insecticon hybrid subject he had permitted him to foster an attachment too. The procedure was done without protest or complaint, with out a twitch or ghost of emotion on his faceplate. Creation followed Shockwave’s instructions without question, even when distressed, and had learned how to tap into that fractional fragment of Shockwave’s spark spinning and intertwined with Creation’s own. 

It was time to bring about the conclusion of this experiment.

Every time Creation allowed that fragment to take hold and suppress his emotional reactions, he was instinctually reaching out toward Shockwave along an artificial bond. Unknowingly, Creation diverted his natural bond from his other half to his Creator, strengthening the bond generated by that fragment.

Indistinguishable and permanently integrated within its host’s own; the only evidence remaining of Shockwave's spark fragment integration into his Creation's own spark was a slight rotational anomaly. Aching to be whole as a sparkling, eager for _any_ contact, Creation learned to reach out to his Creator’s spark for comfort when stressed. It was instinct now for Creation, an instinct that had been carefully controlled and diverted from his natural spark bond from subject 253b.

There was no Cybertronian spark bond stronger than the spark bond between that of split-spark twins. Rare and of high class standing due to complications of emergence and the expenses raising them to their adult frames would bring, they were one spark that destabilized during their formation and rotation around their carrier’s spark and split into half. At emergence, an experienced medical professional, or a scientist versed in outlier spark anomalies, could stabilized them in separate frames.

But the complications of keeping them functional did not end after emergence.

By their very nature, split-spark twins were intensely loving, gentle, and curious. The only Cybertronians to have no memory of never having a bond in their sparks, they had strange instincts. Their sparkling stage was often confusing as they attempted to interact with all mechs they encountered through their spark. They became extremely tactile early on with other mechs to establish a physical connection for the one they instinctually thought was missing between them. 

A split-spark sparkling wanted to be held by mechs constantly if not merged with their other half. Often their optics were locked on their other half in curiosity and confusion. If held together, they continuously explored each other’s frames with curious servos, often attempting to pull open each other’s chestplating to stare at the other half of their spark - sometimes attempting to reach inside and place objects into each others sparks. 

A negligent caretaker could end up with sparklings that were screaming with melted and electrically charged servos at best or deactivated sparklings at worst.

When they recharged, it was in the arms of a mech that wrapped their field tight around them or it would be with their chestplates open and locked together, two half sparks able to calm out of the arms of a mech and recharge finally as one whole spark. They spent their entire sparkling stage of development locked in a perpetual spark sync; one whole sparkling that existed simultaneous in two frames. 

No mech could bare to hear their screams or feel the distress in their fields, if they were left unmerged, alone, without physical contact. 

It had taken Shockwave a quarter of a vorn to determine the destress of Creation when he was brought into his laboratory. Isolated within his own quarters, Shockwave attended Creation’s function and assessment needs every cycle. Silence was rewarded with his presence. If Creation a made noise when he entered or was present, Shockwave would simply leave. 

And Creation, eager for the contact through that tiny fragment of Shockwave’s spark in his own, learned quickly as a sparkling that silence made his Creator return or stay. 

So it had come as an unexpected result when Shockwave had carried him into the laboratory to habituate him, and the sparkling abruptly began to scream and shake. This Unacceptable behavior continued for long enough, Shockwave had considered terminating the experiment and conclude it as a failure. However, once as he had carried Creation toward his experiments with fractured spark fragments and they reacted to Creation’s presence, and not to himself, he determined the cause of the split-spark sparkling’s distress in his laboratory and rectified it.

Creation’s spark was promptly stripped of his ability to generate or feel the electromagnetic fields of other Cybertronians as the Senate had done to Shockwave. Thus, the scientist began to mould Creation in his own image.

No longer screaming or shaking from the presence of the EM fields from Shockwave’s subjects, Creation began to finally look around his surroundings with quiet interest and often locked his optics on what his Creator was doing from the corner he was placed in. That tiny fragment in his spark was calling on instincts to stare and reach out at his other half, diverting it in Shockwave’s direction. Corners of various laboratories had mats as place markers installed and Shockwave would place Creation on them. If he left the mat, he was removed from Shockwave’s presence and left alone. 

Once again, Creation learned quickly what was required to be able to stay in his Creator’s presence - even as a sparkling he was eager to please to earn praise and attention to stay in the presence of the one who made him feel a fraction of whole.

The expense of keeping split-spark twins functional in their youngling stage almost tripled as they would merge their sparks less frequently, and developed their own personalities and interests that complimented the other. They were bold and curious, eager to try any new experience - and extremely difficult to keep track of. 

When one half became too excited, the other would dart off heedlessly to join him, regardless of what was in their path. If one became injured, they would instinctually open their bond wide between their sparks into a bond sync to hide their injured half away without understanding why.

A mech skilled in tracking and training turbohounds would be hired permanently on staff to find the missing twins, as would a medic who they trusted implicitly so they could be taught to fight their instincts, and to run their injured twin to him for help. Still they were often found in the strangest of places as they learned to fight their instincts. They would stuff each other away into a closet or rafters, and away from prying optics from mechs that could not hear the songs they sang compulsively between themselves in an instinctual effort to feel whole. 

Split-spark seeker frames were next to impossible to find when they hid to protect their other half, and only one set ever survived out of their younglinghood to their adult frame transfer. Most were simply found hidden away and starved to deactivation; shuttle framed split-sparks were never found at all.

In their youngling stage split-spark twins experimented with the two ways to sync their sparks together to feel whole. 

For a bond sync they would open their bond wide between them and dart, leap and play in concert with their frames and along their bond to their sparks. Unlike a spark sync they could break out of these complimentary movements at any time by constricting their bond, but rarely did. Dashing and running, their household was filled with the laughter and delight of two half sparks that privately danced and sang to each other over their bond as they celebrated feeling whole.

After full and prolonged spark merge, which they ached to perform almost constantly, their sparks would lock in a song as they sang a duet to each other in their joy of oneness along their bond and their behaviour synced for a cycle or two afterward. They would move and speak in complete harmonized voices, one spark in two frames and would mentally consider themselves one mech. It took self control to resist merging their sparks compulsively and instructors were hired to teach them exercises so they did not stay perpetually locked in sync and stress their sparks to deactivation.

Mechs of the lower caste of Cybertron, who never had split-sparks twins last beyond their sparkling stage, found it incredibly eerie and thought they were cursed - if split-sparks were known to them at all.

During this stage of Creation’s development Shockwave had ensured that Creation learned to fight his instincts, and report to him immediately if damaged. As he fostered the formation of the dormant spark bond between Creation and the other half of his spark, he ensured that Creation would imprint and reach out with his spark to Shockwave through that tiny fragment after each procedure. Creation was learning to sing his emotions to his Creator to feel whole while his Creator was learning to mimic the songs of his other half to encourage Creation to keep sending his emotions. Slowly, Shockwave was syphoning away the bond from the other half of Creation’s spark and against all split-spark instincts, Creation was willingly helping him do it.

Split sparks in their adult frames were obvious within the first few breems of interacting with them for those who knew their behaviour. They often had their spark bond nudged open to feel whole in a bond sync, smiling, joking and laughing with others, and finishing each others sentences as they sang and danced to each other privately in their sparks. Their verses would match, they agreed on everything, and while each twin had their own complimentary personality, they would do daily tasks like drink from their high grade flutes in sync. 

To watch them dance together as they opened their bond completely in a bond sync and were lost in their joy of feeling whole at parties was a privileged, stunning sight that would cause a hush to fall over the dance floor as mechs stopped to stare.

To earn the trust of spark-split twins was to be revered and envied among the high class, because if they chose to bond to another mech’s spark, he could hear the secret songs they sang between themselves and dance with them among their sparks. 

Split-spark twins were one spark that sang into sync along their bond to feel whole. When they merged their halves together they became an inseparable whole, one spark in two frames, locked in a period of blissed syncing songs.

And Senator Shockwave had once been one of the privileged few to hear and feel their songs.

The machinations of the senate had removed his ability to hear or feel his Conjunx Enduras as well as his ability to ever form another spark bond between himself and another Cybertronian naturally again. 

And the empurataed Shockwave simply felt nothing about that. 

His rare split-spark seeker twin enduras, Jetfire and Jetstorm however, did. And they refused to let their chosen mech go without a fight. 

They followed Shockwave constantly, trying to reach out so he could hear their songs. Trying desperately to get him to engage with them and to stop his experiments. And when they became an impediment to the progress of his scientific endeavors, he locked them up. 

When he looked at them he could play back memories files of watching them dance and fly, just for him, in sync - of the three of them together in the berth lost in bliss. Academically he knew that mechs envied the thought of twins locked in a spark sync, and doting on their chosen mech’s every desire in the berth as he could hear their songs, but Shockwave simply did not. 

He would go and stare at them in their shared locked pen. Illogically they begged to be released but instead he would command them to dance and force them to merge. Replaying some of their songs in his processor as he watched, he felt nothing in his spark and he would reset his optic to clear the memory files, and leave. 

He began to wonder if he could replicate and simulate the songs that sang their half sparks into sync as one between other subjects, and he began splitting and fragmenting sparks. Most of his subjects did not survive, driven mad to stare at a part of themselves in another frame, they would eventually tear themselves apart. So he reduced the sparks down further and further into fractions until they were hardly visible, one spark, split among hundreds of frames. 

The result was stable but not the original hypothesis he had set out to prove, so he went back to stare at the split-spark seekers who seemed to believe that he should be able to care to hear their songs.

Taking them out of their cells, he felt nothing as he heard their screams instead. 

The theory he explored stated that since there was no Cybertronian spark bond stronger than that of split-spark twins, a new spark generated from between them would have an even stronger bond. His hypothesis was that he could attach a fragment of his own spark into one of the half sparks at emergence and use that connection to slowly divert and syphon away a controlled and established bond from the other, without being rejected as a threat by the other half. 

However, all current scientific and medical theory had stated that split-spark twins could not produce a new spark between themselves as they simply merged together too perfectly to generate the charge. Shockwave disproved that theory by forcing the split-spark seekers to stay merged and locked together by simulating their own songs in discord to them. Then he transferred them as one to a new spark casing and ground frame. 

Forced to sing to each other constantly in sync for survival, refusing to let the other half of themselves extinguish, he formed a new spark out of their new songs of terror.

The ground frame he had selected had a windshield straight over the Experiment 253’s combined half sparks so he could monitor the new spark’s formation closely. The subject would speak to its new spark, calling it an illogical term of endearment many Cybertronian’s favoured. When it came time for separation he destabilized the new spark, forcing it to split in half, and placed each half into identical sparkling frames. He ensured that the half spark that reached out to him in curiosity first was integrated and synced with a fraction of his own spark, then ensured that it onlined to the sight of his optic between the line of sight of the other half of its spark that it had instinctually tried to locate. 

For the final ground work for his procedure, he conditioned the half-spark sparkling to depend exclusively on himself and logic, teaching it to fight its own emotional instincts for when the bond between it and its other half began to be established. He kept the other half ignorant and functional, periodically checking to ensure that its spark rotation did not sync with his own Creation’s. 

His creation was never permitted to catch a glimpse of his other half until Shockwave deemed his attachment and dependency to him within acceptable parameters for proving his hypothesis correct. By remotely accessing his own small spark fragment with a hardline into Creation’s half-spark and simulating the songs of his split-spark creators, he could experience short bursts of the affection his Creation craved and fulfill them as well as habituate Creation to the process.

Eventually, his creation began to preen to follow his parameters of acceptable behaviour and became distressed if he was deemed unacceptable and left alone, so Shockwave gave Creation more freedom and tracked his movements. Once his creation began to chose to follow Shockwave around exclusively and in complete silence as if an extension of his own frame and will, he began to slowly allow the dormant spark bond to form between the two half sparks under his controlled supervision. After each procedure he redirected Creation’s focus onto himself, away from his other half, and he could feel Creation reaching to him, strengthening that artificial spark bond.

The first time both halves were forced into sync remotely without a direct spark merge, Shockwave had experienced his first flutter of joy from that fragment in the spark of his Creation.

And his Creation’s spark sang of a desire to please and be held by its Creator louder than to be one with its other half as he had predicted. He instructed his Creation to remain completely still and quiet along the bond that would form with experiment 253b, and he knew his Creation would behave for these new parameters. 

Creation longed to fulfill his purpose that Shockwave had fostered in his development, that desire still laced every one of his songs. 

After intently observing his creation's lack of emotional reaction as he categorized each component of the failed Insecticon experiment slated for termination, Shockwave deemed his work acceptable and Creation only clung closer to that fragment of Shockwave in his spark. As a reward, Shockwave brought him to his quarters and personally buffed out the scratches and popped out the dents on Creation’s plating. 

Creation trembled to contain his excitement at his Creator’s uncharacteristic, prolonged, contact and leaned into his touch while strengthening that artificial bond further. When he was finished, he stated that Creation was free entertain himself within acceptable parameters as Shockwave went to go inspect the results of his latest attempts at weaponizing cosmic rust.

When Shockwave returned to his quarters that evening, he found Creation had never left and had willingly settled onto the place-marker in the corner instead of his own quarters, optics locked to stare at the door waiting for his Creator’s return.

As he stated that Creation’s choice of where to recharge was acceptable, his Creation practically vibrated under the praise and Shockwave considered all that he had already achieved with this project and what was yet to come.

He had proven that split-spark twins could germinate a new spark with their songs if they were forced into discord and held there while electronic stressors were applied.

As he looked down at this creation he reviewed how he had created it from the terrified songs of his own twin conjunx endura. Replaying the memory of forcing them to become one and generate a new spark beside memory files from before his empurata, he chose to watch one where his former self smiled and danced with Jetstorm and Jetfire at a party.

Shockwave had created split-spark twins born, fragmented, and splintered off from the terrified songs of their split-spark creators, his own conjunx endura -

And he felt nothing but scientific interest when he reviewed his files.

As he lay down on his berth he could feel Creation’s unwavering focus on him still; could still feel him strengthening that artificial bond between their sparks, eager to please, reaching for comfort. His creation could not even see the cage he continued to willingly encase around himself, so eager he was to instinctually look to Shockwave to feel whole.

Idly Shockwave ran simulations that predicted his creation’s desire to please and receive comfort from Shockwave may change form once he was placed in his adult frame. The emotions he received reaching out across that artificial bond after a procedure with subject 253b were the simple desires of a lonely youngling - the desire to be held and stroked gently as if soothed by a creator or carrier. 

And those desires Shockwave fulfilled when he felt them to offer as an incentive. Feelings and desires of that broken half-spark desperate to be whole, dangled just out of his reach, motivating Creation to take the procedure just one step further to achieve Shockwave's permanent results.

Creation had always been a fast learner when it came to earning his Creator’s affection, he would determine the final step he had to take to bring this experiment to a close. All Shockwave had to do was simply wait to receive Creation’s own proposal for a modification in the procedure with subject 253b. 

It should have been an impossible prediction, that a split-spark twin would be willing to injure or terminate their other half for the benefit of another. Yet subject 253b was beginning to smile to himself when Shockwave arrived to retrieve him. Unaware of the bond, it would be feeling the eagerness of Shockwave’s own Creation quietly in the background of his spark, eager to fulfill his purpose, and thinking it was its own.

Shockwave had trained this half spark twin in his quarters so well to fight and redirect his instincts since emergence, that Creation was about ready to offer the other half of his spark to his Creator as a sacrifice, in the only logical way he had ever experienced a semblance of whole.

With this creation and the impending conclusion to this experiment, Shockwave was defying the Senate and Primus himself.

Idly he wondered if he should feel proud about that.

Instead he felt nothing but scientific interest at what he had accomplished when all current theory stated that it could not be done, and an academic interest at what it would be like to indulge in feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was complaining about editing on Tumblr one day, and as ntldr is want to do to my muse - ~~sometimes resulting Sideswipe working for Uber and children in the back seat of him vomiting skittles everywhere~~ \- a single line from her prompted me to write this tiny little story below where I tried to use as many half-expressions as possible and thus, this headcanon for Hypothesis finished its formation:
> 
> _Sunstreaker gave a half-assed glance to his forearm plating before he focused on another of his brother’s half-baked schemes. He wouldn’t look half as decent after this._
> 
> _Running out there half-cocked, when the plan had only been half-sprung, he’d have to be half-blind to continue._
> 
> _Already half-lit from the party when the battle started, but for his twin’s half-brained ideas, he’d follow half-naked against Unicron himself._
> 
> _Opening his half of their bond completely, Sunstreaker lost himself in the swell and synchronizing tide of oneness - one spark, two frames. Each half, reacting as one._
> 
>  
> 
> _Each half, smiling as one._
> 
>  
> 
> _Battling for survival it seemed, was the only time half-sparks felt whole._


	7. Instincts

Something bad had happened to his weirdo. 

Something really bad.

Bitlet had gotten use to feeling his quiet presence in his spark, and it was okay, Bitlet had enough loud emotions for the both of them and shared them constantly. Then one fuel cycle after their last spark merge, Creation’s emotions had _sang_ and Bitlet began running around his home, leaping as high as he could off his berth and then tunneling under it in a repeating loop as he giggled uncontrollably. 

Spark racing and pulsing, he jumped and danced along their bond, spark _aching_ to go to him but the bars were in his way.

Creation had never been so loud with soft and fuzzy emotions like these and Bitlet was so happy he was bursting - he wished Creation could tell him why. The bright joy was infectious and he couldn’t stop moving, jiggling or smiling and after two cycles his Carrier was becoming exhausted with his seemingly inexhaustible sudden supply of energy.

The song in his spark abruptly morphed five fuel cycles ago to a jumbled and lumpy mass that leaked, looped and dripped. 

And he heard Creation beg along their bond.

//No. no please.//

Then even the ugly lumpy song shrieked and screeched to a halt.

Tunneling under his berth away from prying optics, Bitlet tried to reach out to his weirdo as he started to hear the word //Unacceptable// repeated again and again in a loop along their bond - then their connection got so cold it burned. 

Whining, Bitlet scrambled and scratched at his chestplate as he focused on reaching earnestly to sooth his weirdo while kicking at his carrier, who was trying to reach him under their berth to pull him out. 

Abruptly, even the focused cold cut off. Bitlet never thought he would miss the focused burning, cold but this was worse. Unlike the other times, their connection didn’t disintegrate, he could feel that it was still there, but it was like it was clogged tight.

And he couldn’t get it to budge.

Screaming, he came roaring out from under his berth and he started to throw himself against the energy bars on the door to his room. And he scratched, bit, and kicked as his carrier struggled to hold him in his arms. The little concerned pings he sent in a constant stream moved along the connection that was between them, then they would abruptly shatter as if they hit a wall.

Creation had been periodically clogging their bond for three fuel cycles after their last merge, but it always felt relaxed and excited before he clogged it. Plus he always peeked back in to play a few games of Ping Pattern at the very least. But this last time had been terrifying and Bitlet hadn’t felt so much as a shuffle from the other side of their bond for five fuel cycles. 

They were the worse five fuel cycles of Bitlet’s life.

Carrier refused to let Bitlet out of his arms now, no matter how hard he struggled and fought to try to escape. Gnawing at Carrier’s plating, he growled, revved until he started to smoke, and screamed while he ached to make it though those bars. 

_Creation._

He had to find Creation, bring him back home, and hide him safe under his berth with his empty energon cube.

But as he panicked, simmered, gnawed, and growled, Carrier held him constantly. On the second cycle Carrier started to whisper when he thought Bitlet was in recharge. On the third he whispered when Bitlet wasn’t even in recharge. 

Carrier kept whispering to two mechs that weren't there about Shockwave, experiments, and abominations.

On a regular cycle Bitlet was the definition of persistent to get what he wanted, and when it came to Creation he was downright relentless. Even in a frantic, furious, panic, he kept sending his primal pings along the bond to Creation, hoping that maybe he could hear him and would eventually respond. 

If the bond was stuffed, he has to be alive, Bitlet attempted to reason. 

Because if he wasn’t alive, Bitlet didn’t think he could ever stop throwing himself at his energy bar doors. 

As he tried desperately to come up with a solution to get to Creation, he though that maybe Shockwave had shoved his spark into Creation and Creation no longer liked it. That thought should have made him happy but he couldn’t shake the emotions that had shrieked and screeched into their bond before they went cold then abruptly cut off. 

Recharge was fitful, if not existent, and his limbs twitched to move but he was locked tight in Carrier’s arms. He was laying now, his backplate to Carrier’s windshield, still wrapped tight in his arms. 

Periodically, he would online his optics and stare across the hall at the mech with the clear material over his processor. He didn’t talk, but he certainly liked to watch Bitlet play, and his field was amused when Bitlet would hide things that would make his Carrier hurt. That neighbour always seemed to know when Bitlet was lying but he never said anything. Onlining his optics again he stared into that mech’s processor. It was like he knew Bitlet liked staring at internals and how they fit together, he always positioned himself on his berth so Bitlet could stare directly into his processor. Offlining his optics again, he tried to initiate recharge while simultaneously sending his little pings. 

At this point his pings were frantic and he’d given up on patterns cycles ago. Now he was begging. He wished he could scream into their bond like Creation seemed to do. He would scream at him to come back, come back and Bitlet would protect him, hide him under his berth and they could be together. 

Cycling a frustrated ventilation he onlined his optics again to -

Creation!

Bitlet’s panic abruptly halted and he sent him an excited instinctual ping in greeting but it still just hit that fragging clog. Glancing back at the troubled faceplate of his recharging carrier to ensure he was still in recharge, he looked back at Creation.

Polished to perfection in a way Bitlet had never been, he was standing in the hall just staring through the bars at Bitlet, faceplate blank. Then Creation shifted his optics to stare at the arm wrapped tightly around Bitlet.

The clog along their bond still bothered Bitlet but Creation was visiting his home for the first time, and he hoped Creation had come to ask if he could live under Bitlet’s berth. 

Of course his answer would be yes. 

Talk of Creation always upset his Carrier, so Bitlet would have to be careful. He hoped Creation would have some ideas of how to deactivate his energy bar door to get Creation in and stuff him under his and Carrier’s berth without Carrier noticing. 

Creation was quiet. Carrier would never know he was there. 

Bitlet’s two important worlds were hard to carefully balance sometimes.

Trying again to send a welcome to Creation, he added a probably unnecessary warning to be quiet, only to still come up against the clog. He sent as hard of a shove as he could against it but it still wouldn’t budge. 

At least now that Creation was moving in under his berth, he could actually ask him what was wrong so Bitlet could fix it. 

Wriggling his way out from his carrier's tight embrace he thumped down onto the floor gracelessly then paused to check that Carrier was still in recharge. Thankfully, he was. Bitlet had stopped struggling too much over the past few cycle and had resorted to a dejected simmer as he tried to think of how to reach Creation. Carrier must be exhausted from containing Bitlet in his arms these past five fuel cycles if he didn’t online.

As he scrambled on his servos and knee joints before he made it to standing, Bitlet flashed Creation a smile that he hoped conveyed how excited he was to see him - it was weird to not be able to pulse his excitement along their bond with it. 

Even though he hadn’t always had this bond it felt like he always did and that didn’t make any sense, but now that it was clogged…he kinda hoped Shockwave would come unclog it with a treatment if Creation couldn’t fix it. 

Only kinda, though. He still mostly wanted to slam his pede onto Shockwave’s creepy optic.

Once Bitlet reached the bars they stood staring into each other’s optics for a moment. 

Bitlet's smile fell when Creation's faceplate remained as still his frame, and Bitlet peeked as far up the hall as he could to see if Shockwave was nearby. Creation always tossed him a crooked smile when Shockwave wasn’t looking now. 

The hallway was empty, and not even a squatty cleaning drone was in sight. Moving his focus back to Creation, his faceplate still hadn’t changed but his red optics were locked on Bitlet as if he might disappear.

“Creation?” Bitlet whispered his designation to him for the first time. “What’s wrong? I can’t feel you, and that’s not right.”

Creation didn’t answer, didn’t twitch, just kept staring at Bitlet.

Then his optics started cycling rapidly, but he didn’t move or make a sound.

Bitlet reached his servo through the energy bars toward him, it could barely fit, and he placed it on Creation’s jawline like he had always longed to do. 

At his touch, Creation started to silently tremble, his vents hitched. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Then he leaned into Bitlet’s touch, followed by a desperate nuzzle, and a wave of abject devastation assaulted Bitlet’s spark. 

_Sorrow. Guilt. Shame. Pain. Loss. Fear. Loneliness._

//Unacceptable. Unacceptable. Unacceptable.//

All lumped up, tossing and repeating in frantic panic with that same phrase over and over again from his spark.

Clicking and chirping a quiet soothing binary as Carrier would to him after a treatment, Bitlet sent comfort, support, and love over their connection and wrapped him in his field. All the things he loved to feel in Carrier’s field when he was upset and needed comfort radiated from him along their bond and from his field. 

Creation was clinging tightly to the bond between them but he didn’t respond with his field.

Finally, with Creation nuzzling against his servo and Bitlet stroking the side of his faceplate with his thumb, their optics locked, the panic disintegrated away as their ventilations synced and it was as if nothing else existed but this.

Just them.

And it felt -

Bitlet’s spark began to sing along their bond and Creation’s rose to answer.

“Get away from it.” Carrier’s sudden panicked voice caused the half formed song to screech to a halt as Bitlet quickly withdrew his servo, and he turned to see Carrier scrambling off the berth toward him. A bizarre combination of panic and fury spiking from his field that Bitlet had never felt before.

In three quick strides Carrier reached Bitlet and gathered him up into his arms, blocking his view of Creation as if he needed to be shielded from him.

“Stay away from him.” Carrier revved angrily at Creation over his shoulder. Bitlet’s faceplate was pressed tight against Carrier’s plating and he squirmed to be released. 

Fuel tanks twisting, terrified - this didn’t feel right - he’d never felt his Carrier’s field feel like this, not even when Shockwave would carelessly bat him into the wall. 

Not even when that monster came for Bitlet. 

He knew the mention of Creation upset his Carrier but he didn’t know he’d feel like this! Bitlet had still hoped they could all run away together or at the very least, he’d be able to tell Carrier that Creation lived under their berth.

“Bitlet’s spark is special and it’s not for you or your _Creator_.” Carrier spat out, his field was sharp, dangerous. 

Bitlet whined, trembled and tried to squirm away as Carrier’s field stabbed into his own. 

“Get out you disgusting little thief!” Carrier’s frame rumbled in fury. “Go! Or I’ll tell your Creator you were here. He’ll believe me over you, you horrible little abomination.” Carrier punctuated his statement with another aggressive rev of his engine.

Bitlet felt his connection to Creation flash with intense possessive jealousy, bitterness and an underlying fear before it went silent, but it wasn’t clogged. By the time Bitlet had managed to wiggle his helm free so he could peek toward Creation, Carrier collapsed on the floor and held him tight to his frame. 

Glancing over Carrier’s shaking and trembling frame, he saw the hallway outside his room was empty. Sending an apologetic ping to Creation over their bond, he stroked his Carrier’s plating and started damage control. 

“Hey, Carrier, hey. I’m fine see? No damage, all my bits are still inside, nothing new is added. See?” He soothed.

Carrier wasn’t looking, he simply held Bitlet tighter and shook. 

“You aren’t looking. _See?_ ” Bitlet added a pout and a whine that never failed to get Carrier’s attention.

Finally pulling back, Carrier’s optics met Bitlet’s and he flashed him the smile he always used to assure him that he was alright. But Carrier didn’t smile back or cycle a relieved ventilation this time. Instead Carrier grabbed his faceplate between his servos and stared hard into Bitlet’s optics.

“Tell me you don’t hear any songs in your spark around it. Tell me.” His Carrier shook him a little bit and his servos were squishing Bitlet’s faceplate uncomfortably, his field was panicked and frantic, so of course Bitlet did what he always did and told his carrier what he wanted to hear. 

“What? No. Sparks are private and not to be shared. What would I feel with my spark? Songs? That sounds weird.” Carrier narrowed his optics as he weighed Bitlet’s words. Bitlet kept his expression open, field tweaking curious, to protect his Carrier from his own crushing panic. 

Half truths always worked better when using a field to support them over outright lies. 

Long ago Bitlet had realized that there was nothing Carrier could do to protect Bitlet from the monster that was Shockwave, but he worked hard to maintain the illusion for Carrier that he could. Bitlet was good at telling stories of half truths to sooth over the fears of others to guide them to feel what he wanted.

After what felt like an eternity to Bitlet, Carrier’s frame lost its tension and his field lost its edge and wrapped tight around Bitlet as he leaned in and nuzzled his forehelm against Bitlet’s own. 

“You are my precious special spark.” Carrier cooed and Bitlet’s field mingled with his Carrier’s, dancing and enveloping as he sent a secret ping pattern to Creation. 

Creation’s immediate completion of the ping pattern was edged hard with sorrow, determination, and what felt like a promise. 

They played secretly along their bond for cycles and Creation’s pings never lost their hard edge. That was okay though, Bitlet would wear those hard edges down eventually.

But even if he couldn’t, it didn’t matter, Bitlet had more than enough soft edges for both of them.

He just wished that Creation would stop going cold and clogging their bond, because Bitlet couldn’t help him by sharing with him if he was unreachable.

And Bitlet needed Creation.

Without him, he didn't feel whole.

……………………

Creation was more determined than ever to make the results of his and Creator’s experimental procedure permanent. 

Approaching the spark merges between Bitlet and himself with calculated focused, he coaxed Bitlet’s spark into sync with whispered earnest praise of how stunning Bitlet felt and how much he loved him and needed him from the very first moment he smiled. Creation promised Bitlet was special, so special, not like the others, not a subject, never a subject to Creation - something _else_. 

Sharing how warm and desperately he felt for Bitlet, always wiggling and running in circles, and how much it hurt each cycle to be apart from him. Creation shared all the feelings, all the want, all the need, he felt for Bitlet without holding any of it back.

Bitlet would be captivated by the sudden onslaught of emotions from Creation and still as he listened in stunned awe as he simply felt.

Optics locked and ventilation synced the entire procedure, Creation promised that he would not allow his special spark to be locked away - if only he could help Creation fulfill his purpose they could be together.

Once Bitlet was still, Creation would lure him deeper by sharing his own insecurities, his own uncertainties and Bitlet would rise to meet him and tell him how much he loved him and how he was never going to left Creation go. He promised he would poke and flick Creation's spark forever and they would join together in a melody that Creation lead as Bitlet followed entranced by every impassioned cord.

When Creator entered through the hardline connection, Creation would hold Bitlet there mesmerized in his melody for as long as possible, trying to shield his Creator’s presence as he joined them for deeper and longer merges. 

It was working. The results were lasting longer, and Creator was considering declaring this solution Acceptable. 

But this solution was not Acceptable. Not for Creation.

Permanent results. Creation would settle for nothing less. When Creator could feel his emotions permanently, it would finally be safe for Creator to know about his attachment to Bitlet and how much he adored him. 

The glitch he had developed would become irrelevant.

Bitlet could touch the side of his faceplate again when Creation got trapped in his feedback loop glitch and he could make those soothing clicking and chirping noises Creation had never heard before but instantly loved as they sent pleasant, calming chills through his lines. His own emotional assistant would keep Creation’s emotions stable so Creator could only feel the ones he wanted when he chose to indulge. 

And they would be the best emotions because Bitlet made him feel like he wanted to perform his mobility assessment exercises constantly.

Creator would see that logic and give him Bitlet as an emotional gift because he made Creation so happy - 

And it would absolutely not end up like Bob. 

Servos and jaw clenched hard, Creation would not permit even entertaining that prediction.

Even the slightest possibility of that result had created the worse feedback loop of Unacceptable behaviour predictions he had ever experienced.

The pain of his examination of Bob had been too fresh, and even deleting his internal schematics drawings and notes from the experience so he would never stumble upon them, had not been enough. Creation had become locked in a loop of predicting Bitlet eagerly jumping and wiggling onto the examination table and a look of confusion as Creation strapped him down. Except unlike Bob, Creation would _feel_ the horror through their bond, he’d feel the terror as Bitlet screamed and Creation removed, categorized his internals, and predicted their function as he Creator watched. 

Logic wasn’t enough to escape that feedback loop.

Bitlet was an irreplaceable parameter in Creation’s life.

Unacceptably, he snuck out of his Creator’s quarters while he was in recharge and compounded his error by entering the subject storage rooms. They were more extensive than he had predicted and at first he was surprised to see that his preferred subject 7241 was stored directly across from Bitlet.

More importantly however, Bitlet was still functioning. Even his focused logic and emulating his Creator had been unable to keep the loop at bay that particular night cycle. Bitlet was not a subject. He did not belong with the others. Creation could feel in his spark that Bitlet was something _else_.

Experiment 253 had called Bitlet’s spark special. Creation couldn’t help but agree, he could feel how special his spark was. And as he left at 253’s threat Creator would be informed of his Unacceptable behaviour, its words of him being a thief and an abomination echoed in his processor. 

Squashing down the often present fear that perhaps Creation himself was a drone that was glitching, thought it was a real mech, and now had attached itself to a special spark - he clung to Bitlet’s pings, their bond and his purpose. Assuring himself that he was not a drone, he was something _else_ to Creator, he would prove that he was irreplaceable. 

Creation had secretly and Unacceptably asked 7241 what abomination meant when he could not find the definition in Creator’s notes. That subject regularly and calmly attempted to coax Creation to engage in Unacceptable behaviours, but it never attempted to touch Creation, and it never flinched or struggled, so it was one of Creation’s preferred subjects. Plus he had voluntarily defined words and actions for him in the past.

Mapping, sketching, and examining its processor, Creation regularly checked the integration of the mnemonic needles Creator had added to the subject’s digits and systems. When he Unacceptably asked subject 7241 what abomination meant, he was resolved that was a description he never wanted Bitlet to associate with him and he needed Bitlet to be removed from 253 before it could turn him against Creation.

Any further feedback loops he refused to allow to occur by shutting out Bitlet and emulating his Creator with logic in order to focus on ensuring their experiment could only conclude with his Creator’s ability to feel his Creation’s emotions permanently. 

He had to be absolutely certain the results were permanent, then finally he could recharge in Creator’s arms with Bitlet behind him. 

Or maybe Creator would want to hold Bitlet too. Creation could share his Creator’s affections if it was with Bitlet.

Predictions of making the results permanent made their way into Creation’s processor as motivation. He would take good care of Bitlet and he’d buff out all his scuffs and scratches from his control monitor, Experiment 253. He would receive all the best maintenance and he could join Creation in the hot oil baths in his Creator’s quarters.

Maybe Bitlet could join Creation in his mobility exercises and Creator could assess both of their function or even better, Creation could assess Bitlet’s function!

When Creator was away, Bitlet could sit and recharge on his mat beside him while Creation studied, or maybe they could Unacceptably sneak up onto the berth together and Bitlet could show him what he was doing when he made up all his illogical sequences of emotions.

The smile he kept only for Bitlet would make its way onto his faceplate at the thought of participating in whatever Bitlet did that made his emotions spiral, wiggle, and leap.

Creation still desperately wanted to know what a rust-slug was. Subject 7241 had only laughed when he asked for that definition after that word stuck in his processor after a merge, and Creator had reset his optic at him and told him it was irrelevant to his education. Bitlet, though, seemed to think about rust-slugs a lot.

The only conclusion Creation would entertain to this experiment was where Bitlet belonged to Creation, and he convinced himself that surely Creator would agree emotionally _and_ logically to that. 

Once Creator could feel Creation’s emotions permanently that is, Creation would not settle for anything less than Bitlet in his life.

Creation had thought that he wanted to fulfill his purpose for Creator before, now he pursued it with singular focus. 

He abandoned all his other projects, tore through all the files of their previous results and considered everything he omitted from them. Setting his chronometer to remind him to fuel, he barely recharged for decacycles, spent joors just quietly standing next to his recharging Creator and predicting himself in his arms, held tight like Bitlet had been by Experiment 253. 

An urge, and overwhelming need to fulfill this fueled him - he was not a drone, he had a special purpose like Bitlet had a special spark - 

\- and he finally found a solution.

Typing up his proposal from his mat in Creator’s quarters, he submitted his logic to Creator so they could discuss it during his next instruction and query session.

Creator had been leaving more often lately, stating he had appointments Creation was not permitted to attend and so Creation was sitting on his mat in Creator’s quarters. Being alone on his mat in Creator’s quarters was preferable to being alone in his own quarters. Alone in his own indicated he had behaved Unacceptably and even if he was free to enter and exit his quarters as he wished when he was being Acceptable, he avoided them like exposure to the cosmic rust subjects. 

His mat had been given to him for Acceptable behaviour so when he wasn’t practicing his skills from his lessons, and was not permitted to follow Creator, it was where he chose to go. On his mat in Creator’s quarters he studied and often drew his schematics of the internals of different Cybertronian frame designs. 

Knowing he had sent in an amendment to the procedure with what Creator had told him to never bring up again in the past, he found he could not focus on his lessons. Block still in place along the bond to Bitlet, he simmered, fretted, and stormed silently in his corner as he ensured he was polished to Acceptable. 

Creator _had to_ approve this proposal. 

It was logical.

Reminding himself that it would be Unacceptable for Creator to see him in such an emotional state should he return, he lifted the block and initiated a session of his Sequences and Series Pattern Exercises with Bitlet to allow his presence to calm him.

Preferable to his quarters or not, Creation still couldn’t stop the feeling that he had done something Unacceptable when left alone. 

Bitlet helped to not feel so alone, he should not have blocked him out again.

Creation’s two important worlds were hard to carefully balance sometimes.

To correct his error of blocking Bitlet, he always initiated a session of their sequences and series exercises. He never apologized. Creator stated that apologies were irrelevant the time he had asked what “I’m sorry” meant during his designated query time. That phrase was not in his reference material Creator had compelled for him and he had overheard it over and over again from one of his subjects. 

He did not understand its meaning and he asked when it was appropriate to use it. 

“Never.” Had been his Creator’s answer. “Do not apologize. Apologies are irrelevant. Simply correct your error and demonstrate you have learned.” 

Anytime Creation failed to meet his Creator’s expectations, he redoubled his efforts to show him how he had learned from his error because Creation extrapolated that method constituted as an apology.

When Creator returned, he approved of Creation’s analysis of their personal experiment. He had told him it was Acceptable, and Creation’s spark spun in eager bliss under the praise and promise of fulfilling his purpose. 

Creator never took offense if Creation saw a solution he did not during an experiment. Solutions to problems, he was instructed, were to be rewarded provided the success came within the acceptable margins of error. If his solution did not end the with his predicted results from his hypothesis, he was to correct his error and demonstrate he had learned. 

However it was Unacceptable to waste resources or disrupt intended purposes of experiments so Creation had to be absolutely sure of his logic before he demonstrated his solution.

This was going to work.

Creator would be able to feel Creation’s emotions permanently. He would touch his faceplate and call him _My_ Creation. Creation would report that Subject 253b made him happy and Creator would give him Bitlet as a gift. 

Creation would train Bitlet to be still and hide just in case Creator reverted.

Failure in this was Unacceptable.

He simply could not predict being able to ever fulfill his purpose to Creator without Bitlet. Without Bitlet in Creation’s life, Creator would never be able to feel the positive emotions he hypothesized he would be able to experience.

Without Bitlet, his Creation would be endlessly trapped in a predicted loop of Unacceptable behaviour.

As Creation assisted with the preparations for what he predicted would be their final procedure, he kept his faceplate blank and movements silent but he let his joy sing through the bond to Bitlet. And Bitlet was leaping, spinning and darting through his melody as he basked in his emotions in response.

And he heard his first whisper of Bitlet's voice along their bond.

//I'll see you soon.//

Clearly, Bitlet was eager to be with Creation too as he pulsed that message with so much excitement and love. Turning away from his Creator as he pretended to recheck the spark rate monitor, his secret smile for Bitlet made its way on to his faceplate.

Soon Creation would fulfill his purpose, and he would know for certain that he wasn’t a drone or an experiment. He would be irreplaceable to Creator - and so would Bitlet.

But when Creator went to retrieve Bitlet for the final procedure, and unanticipated variable occurred and Creator made an uncharacteristic error. 

And Creation was left scrambling to salvage the results he hoped to achieve where he could have all he desired: himself snuggled into his Creator’s arms and Bitlet snuggled tight behind him.

Only then could he feel whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't have enough feels already, the song Creation sings to lure Bitlet into sync for deeper spark merges is The Scientist by Coldplay.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s70OsXlDD94


	8. Spark Sync

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nudges some tissues toward you, and builds you a blanket fort*

“You monster! You are not taking him!” 

Forced behind Carrier, Bitlet wedged into the corner of their home. Carrier’s field was hard, sharp and scary again. 

Bitlet had cheered and tried to bounce in Shockwave’s direction when he appeared because he was so eager to go see Creation and discover why he was singing to Bitlet with his emotions along their bond again. 

The song wasn’t as soft as the last but he was _singing_ into Bitlet’s spark and Bitlet had been running, leaping, and tunneling under his berth in a loop because the bars prevented him from to going join his weirdo in whatever he was doing. If those bars hadn’t been there, he would have been gone and it didn’t matter that Bitlet had only ever seen three rooms and the halls that connected them, he _knew_ he could find his weirdo anywhere. 

He knew how to look.

“Its spark is required.” The response was the same as always but Carrier was not following the rules.

“You said we could keep him.” Carrier revved his engine and his words came out in a growl, but his pitch was strange. His carrier’s vocalizer had started to glitch recently in a strange dual disjointness. 

“We get to keep this one,” and he pointed at Bitlet behind him “we don’t care what the fragging Senate did to you anymore. You are going to let us out so we can take our little bitlet to see Cybertron or you will never come in this cell and touch him again. Those are your two options _love_.” 

Carrier snarled those last words as if he had tasted the old chunky energon Bitlet had stuffed away and forgotten in his subspace once. 

Of course Bitlet had licked it when he found it again.

Bitlet had never seen his Carrier like this. Ever since Creation had blocked him out after he went so cold he burned and Bitlet had panicked; ever since Creation had come to visit him in his room, Carrier’s moods had become unpredictable. 

Sometimes he paced and spoke to two mechs that weren’t there named Jetfire and Jetstorm, other times he held Bitlet gently and asked him to play with his favourite twin wire mechs again. 

Last time Bitlet had played with them Carrier’s optics had gone unfocused with a smile then had suddenly gotten angry out of no where, lashed out with his field and told him to put them away so he didn’t have to see them. Gathering up all his little wire mechs from their homes around their room, he had frantically placed them in his subspace where they could be protected out of sight after Carrier had kicked a few.

Then Bitlet reached out and soothed Carrier with his field, assured him that nothing had been taken out of him or put inside him, and Carrier finally relaxed once he assured him that feeling or hearing something with his spark would be weird.

Reaching out with his field again, Bitlet tried to sooth Carrier as he yelled and growled at _Shockwave_. 

“I’ll be okay.” He stated. “I always come back, no bits will be inside me, nothing will be missing. I won’t feel something in my -”

“Not this time.” Carrier cut him off then started to mutter in a whisper that slowly grew in volume as he argued with the two imaginary mechs. “No. We’ve figured it out. We’ve finally figured it out after all these, what has it been fifteen vorns? It has to have been at least ten vorns, he’s in his youngling frame. You and your little abominable _creation_ ” He spat, “are trying to steal our special little spark. You are going take him for yourself, trap his spark together with yours just like you did to us!”

Bitlet tried to sneak by Carrier to reach Shockwave. 

If he could get out of their room, surely Shockwave wouldn’t hit Carrier for this. Shockwave didn’t seem to care about anything really, and as long as you followed his rules, he didn’t use force. 

Not that Bitlet followed his rules often. 

But he didn’t make it far under his Carrier’s arm before he was forcefully pushed back against the wall with a thud and a screech of metal. Creation was pinging him along his bond with confusion and worry, his song had abruptly halted at Bitlet’s panic and pain. 

“Firestorm! Stop and calm down, you are scaring and hurting your bitlet!” That was the first time Bitlet had ever heard the mech with the visible processor speak and suddenly Bitlet wished the mech had passed him wires with a whisper because he wanted to remember that mech when he eventually disappeared.

Voices of others joined from their rooms 

“You can’t fight him, this is madness.”

“Don’t do it.”

“He won’t hurt him, Shockwave’s creepy little bit likes him.”

That last statement caused Carrier’s field to flash in thundering fury. 

“Shut up! Just shut up! None of you understand. None of you knew him before. You have no idea what he was to us, what he did to us. No. This one is mine. He stays here. No more. No more you hear me you emotionless one optic freak!” Then his Carrier launched himself at Shockwave and Shockwave didn’t even flinch or tense - simply punched Carrier impassively aside into the wall. 

In an attempt to try to salvage whatever this was, Bitlet ran forward toward Shockwave who picked him up by his collar faring as usual but instead of leaving, he stayed. 

When Carrier returned to his pedes, Bitlet wrapped his field around him while making himself appear perfectly relaxed in Shockwave’s grasp. Ignoring the feeling of Creation closing the distance between them and his increasingly frantic pings, Bitlet attempted to sooth his carrier like he always did with his field. 

He would be returned. He always returned.

Carrier swayed, and his field started to lose its edge but as soon as he saw Bitlet in Shockwave’s servo he charged forward with a roar. With his other servo Shockwave simply grabbed Bitlet’s carrier by his intake, and using the momentum of his carrier, rotated and slammed him into their wall. 

Shockwave’s servo clenched around Carrier’s intake - Bitlet started screaming for him to let him go - he could suddenly hear Creation’s panicked voice in his spark telling him to hold on - hide - he was coming to save him.

As Bitlet watched, his Carrier struggled to cool his frame and forced his vents open wide as his main intake and vocalizer was impassively crushed. Mouth gaping open and closed, struggling to cool a now over heating frame as he was pinned against the wall Shockwave simply stared at him.

As he reset his creepy single optic, Shockwave suddenly spoke in that horrible monotone.

“You have become irrelevant. Your purpose is concluded.”

Then Bitlet heard the sounds of transformation.

“Bitlet look away! Creation you must stop this!” The mech across from his home screamed. 

But Bitlet’s optics were locked, and they stretched opened wide as Shockwave’s servo around his Carrier’s intake became something Bitlet had never seen - there was a flash and a deafening noise - and Carrier’s helm exploded into little wet bits that sprayed all over their home and himself. 

Processed energon, sensors, wires, plating and processor bits were everywhere and Bitlet screamed as Carrier’s field went dead as his frame collapsed to the floor with a clang.

Field lashing and wild, mechs in their rooms recoiled their fields from where they were attempting to sooth him and Bitlet thrashed, kicked and screamed against the purple one optic monster that held him. 

But Shockwave simply turned to leave unaffected - as if Carrier meant nothing, as if Carrier had never laughed, or cried, or told stories of his life before Bitlet - and Creation was standing there in the hall cycling hard ventilations. 

His faceplate remained blank as he looked from Bitlet’s carrier’s remains to Shockwave and finally to Bitlet and then their bond hummed in relief. 

Bitlet could only stare at him in shock as a blade snapped back into his wrist.

Then Creation started to click and chirp at him in binary, in a perfect pitch and pattern that Bitlet had used, his spark started to sing to Bitlet, and it was all wrong and weird.

………

Creation had not been permitted to attempt to calm Subject 253b before their experiment’s procedure could commence. 

Instead Bitlet was sedated and this was not at all what Creation had proposed.

As Creator strapped a now uncharacteristically quiet, still, and processed energon dripping Bitlet to the large examination table that had been positioned in this room for this specific purpose, Creator explained the logic of his actions.

“Experiment 253’s purpose was to keep Subject 253b functional. 253 became unstable and could no longer be permitted to interact with 253b. After this procedure 253’s purpose would have become irrelevant. Dispatching 253 immediately was the most efficient solution.” That was logical and Creation agreed. 

If 253 had become a danger to Bitlet he no longer held a purpose and should be terminated, it was a waste of resources to keep experiments that no longer held a purpose functional. 

On an emotional level that he couldn’t quite suppress, a part of him wanted to terminate any danger to Bitlet. 

But it introduced unexpected variables to Creation’s private plans that Bitlet had watched his Creator terminate Experiment 253. 

Bitlet really liked Experiment 253, who had once been two sparks that his Creator had fused into one to germinate Bitlet and an Experiment 253c. Creation had secretly accessed and read both of their files while alone on his mat after Experiment 253 had threatened that Creator would impossibly believe it over Creation. 

Experiment 253c’s file was short. A single reference that it had germinated with Bitlet, and been assigned to the spark splitting project. Creation extrapolated and concluded that Experiment 253c had either been an unexpected, undesirable result and terminated, or more probably had now been split down to its base levels and distributed among frames of terminated experiments. 

Even though Bitlet had also been split off a spark, there was something about Bitlet that made his spark special like Experiment 253 had stated. Creation himself couldn’t help but feel how special Bitlet was and he longed to hide him away in the furthest recesses of the lab.

When Creation had felt the shear panic along their bond from Bitlet, it was like he could not control himself to act Acceptably and he took off out of his corner and ran heedlessly toward him, smashing aside every drone that got in his path. Walking back with his Creator and a struggling Bitlet in his servo had been embarrassing when Creator rounded a corner and stopped. Taking in the extent of the devastation Creation had caused to the drones in his haste to reach Bitlet, Creation couldn't meet his Creator's optic.

There were decapitated helms, limbs and torn plating of drones scattered amongst the halls. Low grade processed energon they used for fuel sprayed up the walls and across the corridors. He hadn't stopped to tear them apart, he'd removed components with a single efficient strike, his processor not even fully realizing how well he knew the weaknesses of the drone's frames.

Creator had simply stated they would discuss his behaviour after the procedure, told Creation he was not intended for combat, then continued on.

He had arrived to the subject storage rooms just in time to see his Creator slam Bitlet’s carrier against the pen wall. 

Observing no current threat to Bitlet he watched his Creator’s cannon form to terminate the 253 and he couldn’t help but feel relief that his Creator had no intention of terminating Bitlet for some Unacceptably illogical behaviour he always engaged in. 

Creation would have to begin training Bitlet as soon as possible after this procedure so he knew how to behave in Creator’s presence if he reverted.

If that had been Bitlet against the wall, he would have had just enough time to intervene and sever activation components of his Creator’s cannon. 

When he had detected no threat to Bitlet he returned his energon blade Creator had equipped on him, when he deemed his behaviour and skill level Acceptable to help Creation efficiently control and contain unruly subjects by removing their limbs, thereby avoiding sustaining Unacceptable damage.

Even when Creator did not have access to Creation’s emotions, he showed he cared in other ways. 

Except Bitlet was safe in Creator’s servo and no intervention was necessary. 

But the pain, panic, disbelief and anger that shot through their bond after the termination of Experiment 253…Creation attempted to intervene with that. 

He mimicked the clicking and chirping noises Bitlet had made that he found soothing and he attempted to send a copy of the emotions Bitlet had sent with them. 

The conclusion was he did not mimic them correctly because Bitlet had screamed at him to stop being so weird and asked what was wrong with him. 

Creator had simply reset his optic at his behaviour and Creation abruptly went silent.

Instead he tried calm Bitlet by initiating a session of sequence and series between their sparks where Creator could not see and Creation finally got a sense of what it was like when he would ignore Bitlet’s attempts to engage with him along their bond.

It felt awful and wrong.

Following behind his Creator, he ignored the frantic illogical requests from preferred subject 7241 as he ached to sooth Bitlet’s struggling, screaming and Unacceptably dirty and dripping form. When they reached the room specifically prepped for this projected final merge, Creation spoke at a time that was deemed Unacceptable and requested if he could be permitted to calm Subject 253b before they proceeded. 

Bitlet had looked at him with a shape on his faceplate that Creation was familiar with from other subjects, but had never observed on Bitlet and pulsed horror along their bond for a moment before he renewed his struggles and screamed for Creation to stop it, to stop being so weird. 

Creation had no idea what that word meant, but by examining the accompanying feeling along their bond, he concluded it was a word he never wanted to be associated with from Bitlet - like abomination. 

Creator had denied his request to calm Bitlet, stating Creation’s proposed solution would yield an unpredictable timeline for results and sedation would prove more efficient. It was logical but Creation still wished to calm Bitlet and explain everything to him before they proceeded. They had never merged with one of them sedated before and it introduced an uncertain variable of success. 

Creator had dismissed his concerns stating that the sedation would be slowly released and this method was best for Creation to achieve his intended full merge without 253b causing another destabilization before optimal results were achieved.

It was logical. 

But Creation didn’t _like_ it.

Creator initiated Bitlet’s chestplate transformation as Creation crawled onto the left side of Bitlet’s sedated form. 

When Creator turned away to the monitors, Creation risked the Unacceptable behaviour of reaching out and placed his servo against the side of Bitlet’s faceplate for the first time and -

\- he withdrew it quickly when there was no reaction. 

Of course there wasn’t, he scolded himself for being illogical. Bitlet was sedated, what did he expect? 

As his Creator inserted the solution into the sedation line in one of Bitlet’s main energon lines, he programed the machines to slowly dispense it so that Bitlet would slowly begin to regain consciousness during the merge. Settling his frame on the berth on Bitlet’s right, Creator commanded Creation to proceed. 

Every time they merged now there was a feeling of anticipation, and excitement between them, especially from Bitlet. They loved it. It felt right, even though Bitlet knew Creation would eventually try to let his Creator in, these moments they had together were worth it.

But this... 

Bitlet’s optics were dim as he started to regain consciousness and his presence was muted along their bond as if he were in recharge. 

Sending a little ping prompted nothing in response. 

This solution was logical but it _felt_ wrong. 

“Proceed, Creation.” Creator repeated his command but added his designation.

And that was all it took to get Creation to comply despite his revulsion. He desperately wanted to hear Creator’s voice always say _My_ Creation instead of simply Creation. 

This was his purpose. 

After this, he would have the rest of their existence to correct this error to Bitlet. 

Even sedated Bitlet’s spark seemed eager to greet Creation’s own, and he sunk into the merge. He could feel Bitlet’s half awareness allow for Creation to entangle himself with him and he found their bond and strengthened it with soothing pulses of adoration, and promises of devotion.

The ordered and logical presence of Creator entered directly into their merge with his own spark for the first time as Creation had proposed. 

Creation felt Bitlet recoil on instinct and managed to calm him. As Bitlet relaxed and focused back on the impassioned emotions he was feeling from Creation - Creation started to burst with hope that this was going to work. 

With Creator’s comforting, logical presence shielded behind him, he brought Creator deeper into the merge and Creation began to lose his sense of self. 

Merging deeper than he had ever gone he suddenly had two frames, one glossy and meticulously maintained, and the other dented, scratched dirty and hurt. When any fear or doubt was raised, one would be there to sooth it aside as being one was right and all that mattered. 

Soon only a second foreign presence existed next to himself. It was silent, still and easily ignored. 

The bliss of being whole for the first time since creation echoed with shooting charge in his frames. Electricity jumped between transformation seems, ventilations were synced and optics were locked - except it wasn’t perfect, part of him was sluggish and difficult to move. 

The foreign presence hovered around the sluggish part of him then he slowly started to attach himself. 

Relaxing into the luxury of being whole, he dismissed it as a threat, ignored it and simply basked in oneness while his shiny frame’s servos explored his dull one, memorizing every seem, dent and scratch by feel - he longed to explore his shiny frame as well but could only manage a slight twitch of his digits with his dull frame. 

It simply felt too heavy to move. 

For awhile everything was suspended in the harmony of bliss and whole of one and it was almost perfect.

Time no longer mattered. 

Only this oneness, this blissing sync mattered.

Slowly the sluggish part of him started to wake and he nudged it but he was weak so he tried to hold that frame closer to his other.

Then the sluggish part of him began to dim. 

Abruptly he separated back into two frames and he saw a purple mech still merged with his dull and scratched frame. His shiny frame slowly and silently descended off the berth and prowled cautiously around it, optics locked on the mech still attached to his dull frame. 

Still merged. Still doing _something_ he was suppose to allow. 

As he felt his self in his dull frame dim further and fall out of sync he recalled the words of the mech he adored to Experiment 253 before he was terminated: 

_You have become irrelevant. Your purpose is concluded._

Experiment 253’s purpose was to keep the other half of himself alive and functional. He had not yet informed his creator that he intended to keep the other half of himself as a gift. 

How had he known that 253 had become expendable?

Then it hit him like a punch to his fuel tank. This mech that he adored did not intend the other half of himself to survive this procedure, had neglected to inform him of this result. 

This experiment was _theirs_. 

Creation was not an experiment! 

A feedback loop of Unacceptable behaviour predictions battered through his processor. 

But this was his purpose. This is what he had been created for, and when he had failed to fulfill it he had placed a special spark at risk. There was no logical solution to be able to fulfill his purpose, without this special spark he would be useless: miserable. Not fulfilling his purpose was Unacceptable. Not protecting this special spark that had welcomed him as one was Unacceptable. 

This was his purpose but he couldn’t fulfill it. This was his purpose but that was his special spark. This was logical but he wanted the illogical. This was his purpose but -

Impossibly - illogically - that dimming part of himself still used what energy he had left to open their bond as wide as it could go to reached out to comfort him in his feedback loop, aching to bring him back into sync with himself, beginning a melody, promising that he would fix him.

He stood there locked listening to this melody, staring at the purple mech he loved as his Creator, his entire world syphoning away the part of himself that even in distress, chose to reach out and comfort _him_. 

Illogical. Static filled his vision and a sharp pain lanced through his processor as he glitched hard.

Releasing all logic, he launched forward onto the table with a roar of his engine and vocalizer, acting to end the feedback loop in a way that simply _felt_ natural, responding to that uncompromising comfort - opening his half of the bond wide, he reached back to sync as one and held no part of himself back as he joined the other half of himself in harmony that rose up and accelerated in a crescendo. 

He would not lose this part of himself, refused to allow it to be replaced.

His shiny frame unsubspaced its bladed weapon and lunged at the purple mech, ripping him off, stabbing directly into a vital component and forcing him away from his dull, dimming and dingy half, abruptly forcing a stop to the merge. 

Disoriented as he was still engaged in the merge himself, he held onto that melody that locked himself into sync and he tore through the haze to neutralize this threat to himself.

As he stood on the table looking down, the threat was dazed, single optic unfocused where he had been knocked to the floor and grasped his leaking wound as he snapped his plating shut over his spark. 

That single optic rest and he snarled. Watching - always observing, always judging - and in this instance he hated that single optic more than anything he had ever hated. 

Smiling wide and as it began to regain focus, he sang to himself with abandon in his spark as he relished in his harmony of his illogical hatred, jumping down he slammed the heel of his shiny pede repeatedly onto that one optic - smashing it - laughing in joy at the encompassing feeling of oneness, optical lubricant streamed and dripped down his faceplates.

Finally, working quickly to detach this threat’s limbs from its frame, as part of himself had been instructed on countless others, he returned to his other frame.

Threat neutralized but still not safe - never safe, can’t be safe here - he hastily unshackled his dull and scratched frame from where it had been restrained and he weakly struggled to get up. 

Together, both his frames as one tore at the line that was keeping him sluggish. 

Picking up his dull frame he took off on only his shiny pedes instead a set of two in search of safety. He knew of no safe place in his existence in which he could escape this threat that had been attempting to terminated his dented, dingy, but oh so bright part of himself.

Memories of a world outside these walls, stories, legends that _might_ be true was his best lead and he ran straight to the exit, input the code he knew but never used, and stepped outside from the always bright halls into a loud and dingy darkness. 

And he ran to find a place to hide lashing out violently at any mech in his way.

Loud and dingy dark was easier to hide in over quiet, always bright corridors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a glutton for punishment and really want to cry at the depths of emotions the twins have for each other even though they don't understand it, listen to Fix You by Coldplay.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXq-14lV79s
> 
> It's what Bitlet sings to comfort Creation out of his panic feedback loop even as he himself is being offlined as Shockwave absorbs and syphons of his bond and fragments of his spark's songs into his own. 
> 
> I have cried so many times through out this story almost as many times as I've laughed at other scenes. 
> 
> When I started this story with the idea of _"Hey I wanna make Sunny and Sides grow up separately in Shockwave's lab and lols they pretend to be Conjunx Endura to hide with the Autobots..."_
> 
> I did not expect to end up with themes of personal growth when confronting scars from the past. Once I realized how horrible an existence growing up in Shockwave's lab would be, here we are.


	9. Glory and Gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably an unnecessary reminder at this point if you've committed this far, but there are some disturbing scenes of gore and medical experimentation in this chapter.
> 
> Also pretty common in TF fandom  
> //bond speak//  
> :comms:

When they were younglings they had escaped as one from the only existence they knew to a world that was fast, loud, always changing and they didn’t understand all the rules. 

Sideswipe loved it. 

There were so many buttons with flashing lights and no energy bars or restraints to stop him from pushing them all and making them flicker.

When they emerged from the lab, Sunstreaker had simply took off in a random direction and ran to store Sideswipe in the furthest dark corner he could find, setting himself up to defend him viciously. No mech even attempted to get close; the feral look in the optics of the creepily polished and energon splattered youngling sent them about their business. 

As the sedatives finally wore off, they ran as one in two frames in a random direction.

It wasn’t long before they learned that they weren’t like other mechs. A tankformer had stumbled upon them as they were lost as one in a merge a few cycles after they had escaped. He tore them off one another and as they rose as one mech in two synced frames to dispatch this threat, he cursed and asked what the frag kind of pit-spawn they were. 

They couldn’t answer the mech if they wanted to. 

They didn’t know. 

All they knew was that Sideswipe had a special spark and that Sunstreaker had been created for a purpose in Shockwave’s lab - and that apparently wasn’t _normal_. 

They had been weirdos together in this new world.

Sunny knew more but he went cold and still in their bond when Sideswipe had asked about it, and Sideswipe decided he was content if he never had to think about Shockwave ever again. The memories they gained while they were synced as one never seemed to matter once they separated, they simply went from knowing everything each other knew, back to themselves. 

What did matter was syncing into that bliss of oneness and just letting their one self take over, it was like an instinct - and a drug. 

They could sync by stretching their bond open wide, but it was even better when they merged completely and could explore their two frames as one.

The second time a mech found them blissed out and merged together he captured them - planned to study them. Two youngling frames tore him apart as one at the hint of being taken to a lab, and once their synchronized behaviour from the full merge finally stopped two cycles later, they agreed to no longer sync by merging that deep anymore unless they had a safe place that could guarantee no interruptions.

Leaving their synced state always left them aching to return.

No matter how great it felt to merge their sparks completely and feel whole, their fear of Shockwave was greater. They feared he might find them and recognize them by their behavior alone, so they agreed to only sync if it was an absolute emergency. 

They learned that if they synced by merging they had to wait until the blissful sync wore off a cycle or two later. It was easier to control syncing by opening their bond wide, and turn it off once they were done by constricting it back down.

It hurt to constrict it back down. Every time.

But they were _together_ and that’s what mattered.

They spent half a vorn scavenging and stealing on the streets of Kaon from the shadows as Sunny performed modifications to hide their frames. Sideswipe chose a mech with blue optic filters around his size he liked and he and Sunny opened their bond wide, synced, took him down and stole them like they stole everything else. 

Sunny simply showed up one day to their meeting place with purple. 

When Sideswipe had complained they didn’t match anymore Sunstreaker had responded that was the point - that’s why Sideswipe had chosen different colours for their plating. If they matched, Creator would find them. 

Sideswipe scowled at him, pinged him hard over their bond, and scolded him to never call the monster that. 

Complaining that the purple optics clashed with Sunny’s yellow paint out loud and over their bond, Sideswipe was relentlessly annoying until Sunstreaker finally arrived with blue optics of his own.

Sideswipe fragging hated seeing purple any where near his Sunny.

Within the vorn, their sparks became too large for their spark casings in their youngling frames and they tried to ignore it. 

They had no idea how to get an upgraded frame and they certainly didn’t have any official paper work or credits. Sunstreaker was good at repairs and keeping them functional, but even he couldn’t perform a spark transfer on himself even if they could get some blank adult frames. 

Sunstreaker said it was too dangerous to transfer a spark into an adult frame that already had memories, but he refused to explain more than that when Sideswipe had suggested it.

Eventually Sunstreaker’s pain, as his spark strained against its casing, became too much and he started to shake in convulsions as processed energon started to drip out of his nasal ridge and his audio receptors. Sideswipe was frantic and he talked to his network of mechs on the streets and in some stores he had enamored with his stories, field tweaks, and smiles; discovered they could be given new frames in exchange for signing a lifetime contract for Gladiator matches. 

In the Pits of Kaon they gained their upgrades and pretended not to know each other, moderating each direct interaction carefully. They orbited each other’s lives and had private conversations along their bond but they never purposefully interacted and they certainly never fought a match together. 

The crowds were too large - there was no way to know if Shockwave was watching, and the risk of them syncing was too great. It was hard enough to avoid watching the other in the ring.

Both of them excelled in the ring and developed distinct reputations.

Sideswipe had the crowds enamored with him before he was done his first match. His opponents found him incredibly disarming - often literally.

Unaffected by carnage - his own or others - he’d casually slice off helm plating, laugh and tell his opponent a story of a mech he once knew who walked around with his processor exposed. Slice off an arm - and he knew a guy - and he’d tell his opponent their story with a grin and a teasing edge to his field until the match was called.

Sometimes he could even make his opponents laugh with him as he tore pieces from their frames. That challenge was almost as addictive as the roaring and cheering crowds.

Once, he slowly darted in and out of his opponent’s guard to tear off all his plating one by one - just to tell him he reminded him of a mech - and went on to tell his story as he spun plating over some digits. Laughing and relaxed, as if he hadn’t just reduced a mech helplessly to his internal components without any protection.

His energy and endurance appeared endless, he was hard to corner as he darted in, out, and under his opponents attacks and guard. Difficult to predict, he took reckless risks, often resulting in an injury for himself he would simply laugh off with a shrug. 

But despite his unnerving reputation in the ring, he had amassed a large following of other gladiators and patrons that hung off his every word. He partied, danced among writhing heated plating, and drank copious amounts of high grade.

Freedom, it seemed, had never tasted so good and Sideswipe wanted to experience everything.

When he was less critically injured, his friends and followers would avert their optics and talk in hushed whispers of how Sideswipe had even managed to charm the terrifying and illusive _Sunstreaker_ into being his own private medic.

The only time they could be seen interacting was in an odd silence as Sideswipe grimaced when he was repaired. 

Sunstreaker learned quickly to make his opponents scream for the crowds. 

From an outside perspective it appeared as if he could simply look straight through a mech’s plating to where their vital components might be located. 

Precise, efficient, and in a perpetual foul mood, he terrified his early opponents as he made his way up the ranks. When the crowd didn’t cheer the first few times he simply circled and dodged his opponent, stabbing through a gap in plating once into a vital component or disabled a nerve cluster, he learned to prolong his matches.

Once when Sideswipe had been spinning a tale to his crowd of followers, he had felt and heard a strange hush descend over the crowd in the arena followed by a focused cold over his bond he had not felt since they escaped the lab. 

They pointedly did not watch each other’s matches, trusting the other to alert if they required to sync to escape, because watching the other get attacked was difficult. 

Sunstreaker had been sedated from the Pit Bosses on numerous occasions as he tore through any nearby mech when Sideswipe went unconscious over their bond. Sideswipe would drown himself in high grade and surround himself with the noise and writhing frames of others to distract himself when Sunny was unconscious in repairs.

But at that hush, Sideswipe had rushed to see what was happening to Sunny in the ring. 

As he got closer he felt the oppressive revulsion of the crowd’s fields. 

And there was his Sunny, in the middle of the ring, faceplate blank as he hovered over his opponent. Limbs had been impeccably detached and placed a short distance away from where they belonged, and Sunny was slowly removing internal components and calmly examining them while his opponent was still online. 

Pinging Sunny sharply over their bond, Sideswipe told him to end the match. 

Without hesitation that cold focus ended and Sunstreaker deactivated his opponent in a single sudden strike. 

When he asked privately over their bond why, Sideswipes stated that if he could feel a mech’s field he would have known how even the crowd had recoiled, and that Sunstreaker had gone too far - even for the Pits. 

Sunstreaker had argued that it couldn’t be that bad, he was simply curious where that mech’s internals lay. His strikes hadn’t been hitting intended targets, and it was a death match so why did it matter _how_ the mech terminated if the end result was the same? 

Then he proudly declared that his record for keeping a mech functional during examination was ten cycles, eight joors, seven breems, and twenty-four klicks while he removed their components - two joors was nothing. 

Sideswipe pinged him hard, told him to stop talking like _him_ , normal mechs didn’t do those things, and Sunstreaker shut down, slinking away into the shadows and corners he haunted. 

Their bond always remained open between them. 

Neither of them ever blocked it.

Sunny had responded to Sideswipe’s apologetic pings immediately but it took three cycles before Sideswipe visibly saw him again, lurking around the edges of Sideswipe’s social orbit.

So consumed in hiding from Shockwave, they were oblivious when murmurs of rebellion changed into a full scale war. To them it was as if over night their new home in the Pits was overrun and they were standing in the middle of a Decepticon rally just swept up with the tide. 

Life wasn’t perfect, but after some vorns, they had found a routine. And they were together - sort of - neither of them could think of a way to hope for more.

Until one day they saw _him_ walking through the crowds next to Megatron towards the podium.

Sunstreaker of course, saw him first, recognized his gait instantly in this room swarming with loud, jostling, and violent mechs. His Creator had changed, upgraded his frame for the efficiency of war. 

He was larger, bulkier and had completely replaced one servo with a large energy cannon. A heavy cable looped from it to his backstrut, linked directly into his internals and spark energy to add additional power to the cannon, and to ground it so it didn’t overload - and it looked like a glaringly illogical weak point. 

Was he simply so confident that no mech could ever get close enough to sever it? Did he have back up weapons installed on his frame if this primary weapon was disabled?

Sunstreaker ached to ask him his logic behind his decision, surely only one servo was less efficient than two for experiments.

Careful not to touch his plating against others less he become scratched and Unacceptable, he work his way thought the crowd to take his expected place behind him and Creator’s optic abruptly begun to search the crowd in his direction. Sideswipe appeared suddenly in front of him, blocking his view as he grabbed Sunstreaker's arm, turned him around, and pulled him against him with a possessive hiss in his audio. 

Sunstreaker hadn’t even noticed Sideswipe calling frantically over their bond as he made his way across the arena to Shockwave. A shroud of deep logic in order to become Acceptable as an apology had descended upon him without thought.

Sideswipe hissed he had been shutting him out of their bond and Sunstreaker hadn’t even noticed.

Guided pointedly away through the crowds, Sideswipe’s friends shutter their optics and flashed their visors, whistling at them as they elbowed each other and laughed in their direction. Sunstreaker struggled not to turn his helm to attempt to catch that solitary red optic gaze. 

Life outside the lab was extremely confusing and difficult for Sunstreaker. He could never fit in, inevitably said or did something that would make mechs around him uncomfortable. Not that he could tell most of the time, Sunstreaker didn’t even know EM fields existed before Sideswipe told him about them, and frame language was so diverse and frame dependent, emotional expressions often moved far too fast for him to comprehend. 

The parameters of acceptable behaviour changed constantly, and there were so many uncontrolled variables in a casual conversation, he could never manage to predict them all and he struggled to keep up. 

Sideswipe would pulse their bond with affection and encouragement every time he saw Sunstreaker trying to engage in social interaction from across a room, but it became too frustrating for Sunstreaker to understand on his own. 

On the streets, Sideswipe would often help him out and translate frame language and fields for him.

Without Sideswipe by his side, every social interaction was exhausting.

So he stopped trying.

When they had escaped into this world of illogical chaos, originally both of them hadn’t fit in. They had both been weirdos together. 

But Sideswipe somehow figured out how to hide his weird from others. Sunstreaker never did, so it was easier to simply avoid everyone and linger on his own in corners, watching, cataloguing expressions and frame movements, but never engaging.

He had a reputation in the Pits and it was easy to keep his distance from other mechs.

Most of them would not meet his optics when he pulled out his datapad filled with his lessons and schematics and stared at them as he predicted where their internals would be located. 

The action was familiar and he found comfort in his impeccably precise drawings of mechs and what they looked like inside.

//We could go back, Bitlet.// Sunstreaker suggested, his hesitant desire and gnawing guilt for being Unacceptable that he kept unformed and stuffed down tight raising for the first time to share with Sideswipe.

//Have you forgotten that he was killing me? And it’s Sideswipe, you know this Sunny.// He did, and for once he didn’t call Sideswipe on his ridiculous insistence on shortening his new name - something about trying to teach Sunstreaker how to have fun.

Sunstreaker could have fun. 

Except apparently other mechs found his fun too disturbing, even in the Pits. He liked figuring out and drawing where mech’s internals were located. Some frames were quite challenging, and -

//No, I just, I can fix this. Creator always said: “do not apologize, correct your error,” if I can just come up with a logical solution-//

//He’ll listen? He’s not going to _listen_ , he’s going to kill me like he killed Carrier. Bang. Splat. Sideswipe processor bits dripping all over your shiny plating. Do you want that?// 

The hurt that rang through their bond as Sideswipe mentioned his Carrier, still felt fresh and raw even though it had been vorns, and Sunstreaker didn’t know how to respond without mimicking an emotion. 

And Sideswipe got angry when Sunstreaker tried to manufacture emotions to him. 

The truth was, he didn’t feel anything but cold logic about Sideswipe’s Carrier’s termination. He had become a risk to Sideswipe’s safety, and yet…somehow that same logic failed when he thought about his half hidden hope that he could return to the lab and Sideswipe could stay with him. 

Of course Shockwave was an Unacceptable risk as he was, but Shockwave with _emotions_ \- Sunstreaker cut off that illogical thought before it could begin a feedback loop of Unacceptable behaviour predictions, his glitch hadn’t acted up in ages.

It would never happen unless Shockwave killed Sideswipe, and a life without Sideswipe was simply not a parameter he would entertain. He stuffed his half formed illogical desires deeper into his spark and encased them behind the wall of logic he still used to focus and sooth himself sometimes.

That evening they swiped what supplies they could, snuck out of the Pits, then the Decepticon held city of Kaon, and their new focus became putting as much distance between themselves and Shockwave as possible.

Sideswipe joked that it was for the best, he was running out of stories anyway.

Sunstreaker refused to join the Autobots because they represented the old Senate and Sideswipe could feel his transmetal clad conviction, flashed his smile he reserved only for Sunstreaker and cooed along their bond that they’d find a way to survive as Neutrals. 

Factions and the war meant nothing to them. 

Other than Sunstreaker’s revulsion about anything to do with the Senate, they honestly didn’t care - they had their own giant purple problem that came first.

As long as they were together, nothing else mattered.

The war dragged on and there were less inhabited places to hide in plain sight. Less resources to barter or scavenge, less cities to travel between to avoid the Decepticons - less places to avoid drawing Shockwave’s single optic focus in their direction.

Eventually, Sunstreaker was secretly syphoning mechs he ambushed for fuel and Sideswipe was pretending not to notice - he didn’t have a better solution after all. 

The next time Sideswipe got injured horribly because he took a risk he was convinced would not result in his deactivation, he didn’t online again for five cycles. 

When he did, it was to the oppressive feel of a mech’s field of abject agony, pain and terror, and it felt frighteningly familiar to the home he wished to forget.

Groaning and scrambling along their bond, he couldn’t get Sunny to respond to him, and when he onlined his optics he saw that his main energon lines had been spliced into a still living mech. Sunstreaker had removed a Decepticon’s limbs, vocalizer, and was pouring processed energon directly from an offlined frame down the mech’s intake. 

He had reduced this mech to essential components to use him as an living energon pump to keep Sideswipe’s fuel moving though his systems while Sunstreaker hunted for replacement parts for Sideswipe. 

Sunstreaker had lost himself deep in his cold burning logic while Sideswipe was offline as he worked desperately to save Sideswipe’s life and prevent his glitch from acting up.

The worse part for Sideswipe wasn’t the horrid field of that mech, it was when his Sunny looked at Sideswipe - his faceplate was blank yet expectant, as if waiting for praise for his ingenuity. 

In that moment Sideswipe knew they couldn’t remain Neutrals any longer. 

He refused to lose his Sunny to Shockwave, when the mech wasn’t even in the same hemisphere, over a little thing like resources, repairs, and Sideswipe’s habit of jumping first without consideration of survival.

Sideswipe spent a decacycle to find a safe location, and for three blissful cycles they were one spark exploring and basking in his two frames.

Their bond strengthened, and their cycles of uncontrollable blissful oneness was ended, Sideswipe brought up the idea of joining the Autobots again. 

The way the war had lasted, it wouldn’t be long before there were no more resources to scavenge he reasoned.

Sunstreaker stated that it was too dangerous. They’d never fit in, and if the Autobots discovered what they were they will lock them up and study them - probably empurata them as well. 

Autobots were monsters.

That they would never fit in was a lie. Sideswipe would be able to integrate himself, he was good at integrating himself into groups of mechs, flitting his field around as he read the room and reactions - keeping them entertained so they never asked questions. 

But Sideswipe considered how hard Sunstreaker had to work to pretend he could read facial expressions, frame movements, and fields. Every time Sunstreaker tried to interact with mechs on his own, it broke Sideswipe’s spark to feel the other mech’s fields. Sunstreaker would continue on oblivious the other mechs were reacting like he was creepy, aggressive or threatening. 

His Sunny made other mechs nervous, but that’s because other mechs just didn’t know how to listen to him. Sunny was more terrified of the mechs around him than they were of him, they just couldn’t feel it because Sunstreaker didn’t seem to have a field. 

That’s why Sunny had Sideswipe to cover for him. Sideswipe’s spark was special, he could understand his weirdo just fine.

And Sideswipe had more than enough charm and field control for both of them.

Sideswipe responded that they won’t ever trust the Autobots. They were going to hide amongst them, steal their resources, use them as a shield, and toss them in the line of fire if they had to. 

They would tell the Autobots just enough that they didn’t ask questions. 

Half of it would probably be the truth.

Autobots or Shockwave. That was their choice now.

Dryly joking that at least the Autobots wouldn’t be immune to Sideswipe’s smiles, Sunstreaker begrudgingly agreed. 

And Sideswipe thought Sunstreaker’s joke was hilarious. A small part of his spark hoped the Autobots could learn how to listen too because every other mech they had ever met was was missing out on Sunny’s jokes all the time. 

Going over their official backstory, Sideswipe mirrored Sunstreaker’s own anxiety. He assured him that they’d show them two ex-Gladiators, ex-Decepticons, soon to be ex-Neutrals. Both skilled, but nothing to be scared of, just a silly red jokester and his aloof, vain sometimes cuddle-friend - all perfectly normal thank you very much.

They were both terrified but neither of them showed it, it wasn’t necessary to show terror when they could feel it between them almost constantly.

Sideswipe had long ago learned to hide his fear behind smiles and laughter. Sunstreaker at least didn’t go as blank as he use to, and Sideswipe would never complain that he replaced it with glares and scowls when he got frustrated trying to read between the lines of rules and social interactions.

Making their way toward Iacon, the next time they spotted Autobots under fire, Sideswipe suggested that they send in their job application.

As they crouched under their cover on the the top of the crumbling buildings outside the city of Iacon, Sideswipe waited for the perfect moment to introduce themselves.

When he heard the turbines of seekers in the air, he pointed to a grey mech with door wingies - that Sunstreaker corrected were sensor panels but Sideswipe argued that he liked door wingies better - hiked high on his back, whose cover had been compromised and was moving from building to building under fire.

Fighting about the name of the the door wingies gave Sideswipe possibly the best idea he’d ever had.

//Remember when I asked if you thought I could punch at the flappy thingies Seeker’s use to fly to control their flight?//

//Which ones? There are ailerons, vertical stabiliz-//

//All of the flappy thingies. You know what they all do right?//

//Theoretically…Sideswipe-//

//Great! You tell me which ones do what, we punch, pull and kick and toss those seekers into -//

//- Sideswipe we’ve never practiced -//

//- buildings. C’mon Sunny. I’ve already named it Jet Judo and everything.// He whined.

//You are the worst at identifying - I can not believe you called our youngling game Ping Pattern.//

//It’s better than Sequencing and Series Pattern Exercise. Did you really think that entire name every time? You didn’t shorten anything, even once?//

Sunstreaker went silent and still along their bond and Sideswipe knew he had poked at the wrong button. So Sideswipe sent him a ping pattern to complete in apology. His Sunny cycled a ventilated sigh, but he completed the pattern and that’s what mattered.

//Sideswipe…I don’t think this is going to work.// He meant more than Jet Judo, he didn’t think he’d be able to hide with the Autobots and Sideswipe had just inadvertently reminded him how weird he could be sometimes.

//Awe, c’mon Sunny? Together - with your pattern predictions and Cybertronian frame knowledge, plus my imagination and irresistible charm - nothing can stop us.//

//Your job application is going to termin- kill us.// Frag. Sunny was really stressed if he was reverting to talking like that monster. So Sideswipe made him a promise that he pulsed with conviction along their bond.

//Then we die together.//

Sunstreaker tossed him the genuine lopsided grin that was always Sideswipe’s favourite.

//You’re an idiot.// That’s what Sunny _said_ , but he pinged Sideswipe with a ball of love along their bond.

//Love you too Sunny.// And as always when Sideswipe said that, Sunny melted along their bond with adoration and relief.

Sideswipe looked down again and his spark pulsed faster in excitement. That grey door-wingie Autobot had massive bearings. He was hanging from one servo and unloading his entire clip into the approaching seekers, while he ziplined from the building they were on top of.

No way he was going to make it without help.

Sideswipe nudged open his side of the bond just enough so they could coordinate, but wouldn’t sync. Just enough that Sunny could help guide him with all the flappy thingies on the seekers. Just enough of their connection nudged open so Sunny could hear Sideswipe’s spark sing to him.

Nudged his side of their bond open so his Sunny could avoid falling away from Sideswipe too far as he navigated the line between battle, efficiency, and the brutally cold instincts of logic without morality Shockwave had fostered in him since creation. 

Sideswipe was a mech that knew how to make memorable first impressions, and make the crowds love him before his first act was done. He desperately needed this to work. 

If he couldn’t cover for them, he had a feeling he was going to end up losing his Sunny to Shockwave’s Creation forever.

And Sunny was Sideswipe’s now, nothing else but that mattered, and he’d make the Autobots love his Sunny too.

He had to.

There was no other choice.

They launched - and Sideswipe started the performance of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some songs with this chapter to increase the feels:  
> Glory and Gore by Lorde  
> Tennis Court by Lorde
> 
> Shockwave is in his TFP frame because it's epic, he's brutally efficient in it, and I love it that's why.
> 
> Some Autobots next chapter!
> 
> And their job application is probably one of my favourite chapters of the entire story so far, but that could just be because I had to draw diagrams to map it out.


	10. Jet Judo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my husband who spent his Friday night laying on the living room floor with sticky notes on him as "flappie things," pretending to be a seeker as I flew him through my fight scene to find logistical holes of physics.
> 
> Song Sideswipe sings along their bond to Sunny: Starships by Nicki Minaj
> 
> Listen to it before or after to help set his mood as he puts on this performance.

:My cover is compromised, relocating:

Prowl wanted to curse but instead he simply acknowledged Bluestreak’s report. 

Seekers always complicated his calculations and drastically reduced their probability of retreating from this location without casualties. The Autobots were in desperate need of more flight frames to combat them, but this late in the war, mechs had already chosen their sides and become firmly entrenched.

Wheeljack and his science team were working on a solution but weren’t finished yet. Uncharacteristically, the eccentric scientist had stated that he needed more time when Prowl had requested an update, or rather, a miracle. Prowl had become accustom to Wheeljack working wonders out of nothing; the ones that didn’t explode in his face anyway. 

Often Prowl could find a combat use for those ones too.

Bluestreak was their best defense against the seekers in this current skirmish and Prowl had taken a calculated risk positioning him there. That his position had been comprised so soon - 

Running between locations for a better angle, Prowl rolled for cover as he used his last missile - Hound had already used all of his - attempting to provide Bluestreak the cover he needed to find a new position. 

The three seekers had apparently been waiting on a roof top, and launched toward the Autobot’s best sniper and their current unit’s best defense against them.

Frag. Frag. Frag. 

They were not equipped for this. This had been a simple supply run to the outskirts of Iacon for materials Perceptor insisted he needed from and old Academy of Science storage depot for the completion of the Ark. There had been absolutely no reports of Decepticons nearby for decacycles, let alone _seekers_.

:He ain’t going to make it Prowler.:

Did Jazz think Prowl didn’t already know that?

His spark pulsed faster. He had already run sixty-five different scenarios and counting but had yet to find a result that had anything more than a five percent chance of Bluestreak's survival. 

Prowl’s fuel pump throbbed harder and his vents strained as he diverted more energy from non-essential systems - and some essential ones - as he pushed his battle processor to the limit. He had to find a solution that would save the young sniper he had adopted vorns ago - the solitary survivor of the seeker’s bombing and utter destruction of his home city of Praxus. 

Bluestreak was fearless and merciless, if not a little more vicious than Prowl would prefer, against seekers. But he was hopelessly outnumbered and as he zip-lined while emptying as much of his ammunition from his blaster as possible, his sniper rifle with the armor piercing rounds was useless to him if he couldn’t find a new position, and it was as if the seekers knew it. 

They were ignoring Prowl, Jazz, and Hound on the ground as they relentlessly pursued Bluestreak from building to building making each even more unstable. 

The three seekers were closing fast and even though Prowl abandoned his cover completely and took out one of the leading seeker’s turbines and Bluestreak emptied his clip into it causing it to divert out from between the buildings to regroup, there were still the two trailing Seekers and - he was so close but it wasn’t enough, there was no probability that this wouldn’t end with his little Blue’s deacti-

Abruptly, the two trailing Seekers closing in on Bluestreak with a final targeting solution were diverted off course as streaks of red and yellow landed on the backs of their flight modes, the extra weight forcing the seekers to dip down, losing altitude. The two mechs had come out of no where as far as Prowl could tell since he had been so focused on Bluestreak’s zip-lining form. 

The seeker the yellow mech landed on abruptly rolled on to its left side as he kicked down the right aileron and lifted the other with his left pede. As gravity pulled him down he lifted his pedes and slammed them down on horizontal stabilizers causing the underside of the seeker to slam and grind up against the side of the unstable building Bluestreak had retreated from. When he ran out of building, he threw his weight onto the right wing as the seeker leveled out, sending him rolling into a dive.

The other one landed sideways on the seeker, kicking down the left aileron and pulling up on the right. As the seeker started to barrel roll, the red mech clung tight but was eventually flung backwards. He slammed onto his back against the vertical stabilizer as the seeker stopped the roll and - then they were both out of sight behind a third building.

Then unbelievably they saw the mechs still on the seekers as they looped around the building and headed back in their direction.

The seeker with the yellow mech managed to loop back around the building with a lag displacement roll. The red mech and his seeker popped over the top of the building. He was sitting, legs dangling off the front of the seekers wings, the force of the air locking them in place - he was _riding the seeker_ \- as the seeker rolled level to fly back in their direction.

:What the frag?:

Jazz took the words right out of Prowl’s vocalizer.

:Whoever they are, I’m covering their afts.: Bluestreak commed from his new position and starting shooting at the third Seeker with the single functioning turbine to keep it from interfering with the two insane ground frames who were _steering and riding_ seekers through tightly packed buildings. 

It was hard to see, but Prowl swore the red mech was smiling.

…………….

//We’re going the wrong way Sunny! They can’t see us over here. How do I turn this thing around?// 

//You need to reduce the angle of the -//

//So I can understand!//

//Right servo, flappy C: lift, Left servo, flappy D: lift//

//Was that so har- Sunny!//

//That’s flappy B you idiot.//

//Whatever I’m going with it.//

//...//

//How are you getting yours to turn?//

//I’m not, I’m just holding on while the seeker saves himself from the nose dive I didn’t mean to send him into!//

//Wait I’m climbing!//

//Your weight toward the tail is causing it to push up//

//It’s slowing down, I’m sitting up.//

//How do I always let you talk me into your ridiculous ideas? You have no -//

//Hush you. Flying now. Grumble later.//

As Sideswipe sat up with his legs locked under the front of the wings he raised his arms above his helm as he rode out the loop-de-loop the seeker did to pull himself out of his vertical climb.

So far Jet Judo was awesome. When he landed sideways he thought he was done for because Sunny landed with his pedes at the back of the seeker. But as he landed his left pede hit a flappy and he grabbed another with his right for balance then the seeker started twisting.

Sideswipe started to lose his grip as it spiralled and when he did, he had been flipped up onto his back and he flailed, hooking his legs over the front of the wing while his left shoulder slammed into the vertical flappie thing.

He had been pinned there by gravity and wind resistance as it started to climb and when it slowed down he was finally able to sit up to see himself crest a building.

Then the seeker had spiraled and it sent his spark racing in exhilaration. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were _riding seekers_ , all his little wire mechs in his subspace were on this adventure with him, and he still wasn’t certain how he’d managed it but it didn’t matter.

They were all together and this was freedom.

He and Sunny were meant to fly. 

This _felt_ right.

As the seeker started downward again between the original buildings they had come from, he saw the grey Autobot they saved from a window keeping the third seeker off his tail.

He pat his seeker beneath him. 

“Good boy, back to the Autobots. Have you ever heard the story of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? Their best friend was Mischief and they played in Vos a lot.”

“You are going to pay for this you -“

“Hold on a klick" Sideswipe rapped his knuckles onto the seeker's plating to cut him off, "your threat is going to be a good one, I don’t want to miss it.”

But motion out of the side of his optics caught his attention and the grey ‘bot’s door wingies were raised high he was waving his arms over his helm, Sideswipe smiled at him and waved back. 

Pulsing pride to Sunny that they were already making friends he -

hit the zipline the Autobot had used under his upraised arm and was abruptly knocked off the top of the seeker, as he scrambled to hold onto the line with his arm wrapped over it, he failed but managed to grab it with his servos and swung for a klick before he saw his exit.

And with luck that baffled his Sunny constantly, he landed on top of the seeker the Autobot had been keeping at a distance in front of him as it tried to come up from below him to shoot him off. 

Fell on top wasn’t exactly true but it would make a better story. He had barely managed to grab a wing and as he scrambled to keep hold with one servo and swing up his pede to wedge it in between missiles on the under side of the seeker, he saw Sunny’s seeker roll so it could grind Sunstreaker against a building. 

Sunstreaker bailed and rolled straight through a broken window without touching the window frame and Sideswipe was never going to tell him to stop literally jumping though hoops in his mobility exercises he insisted on performing every cycle ever again.

Then Sideswipe’s seeker tried to shake him off and he clung tight to the underside of the seeker and pretended he was a space barnacle he heard about in stories from an old shuttle mech friend of his. 

………………

Bluestreak tried to warn the insane red mech that the seeker planned to snag him on his zipline that, in his scramble to provide them cover, he had left it attached when he moved up a few levels to find a better angle to cover the two mechs that has just saved his life.

Because Bluestreak knew resolutely that he had been about to deactivate and he had been so fragged off that it was going to be done by slag sucking seekers. When the two mechs abruptly landed on top of the seekers and knocked them out of a target lock with him, he thought he had already deactivated and was seeing the last jumbled remnants of an active processor.

When he landed inside of his targeted window he reset his optics in shock, patted out his frame to ensure he hadn’t become some kind of spark ghost, then stupidly looked out the window, where any enemy could have shot out his helm, to see what possibly could have happened. 

A yellow mech, who was most definitely a ground frame had slammed his pedes onto control flaps of a seeker and was grinding it against the building, that was absolutely going to collapse at any moment now, and a red most definite ground frame was spinning his Seeker in a horizontal spiral, then the yellow one’s started to dive straight to the ground as the red one was now lounging on his back of his and - then they were gone behind a building.

Bluestreak had to be deactivated.

When the yellow one appeared back around the side of the building again and the red one rode his seeker over the top with a smile and his arms raised high, he heard Jazz’s voice over his comm system confirm that he had seen them too and Bluestreak knew he had to cover them.

But the red mech didn’t seem to understand his warning about the zipline, and Bluestreak’s spark sank that he never had a chance to witness that brave, insane mech’s his final moments online because the yellow mech tucked and rolled straight through the window beside him. Without a beat he was up on his pedes again and running up the stairs further up the building and Bluestreak swore he heard him grumble out something about going to save his idiot.

Taking aim from his position again he saw that the red mech had managed to wedge his pede somehow onto the seeker’s missile mounts Bluestreak had been targeting before and how was he even still -

It didn’t matter because the yellow one had launched himself out of one of the higher windows of Bluestreak’s building onto the seeker his red - and apparent idiot - had been been riding before he had been snagged off since it looped back around, and Bluestreak _had to_ cover these mechs. 

They were insane. No doubt they were insane, but they saved his life and he was going to meet them at least once before they deactivated.

And they were going to die any cycle now as far as Bluestreak was concerned.

Because the way the both of them were laughing now, apparently jumping from buildings and riding on seekers was their idea of fun.

……..

//This is harder than I expected Sunny!// Sunstreaker was not surprised at Sideswipe’s sudden squeak along their bond. 

At all. 

Sideswipe was constantly taking idiotic risks. Sunstreaker had watched him, analyzed him, and it was like he had no sense of danger, seemed to think he’d always survive anything. 

And that’s why he _needed_ Sunstreaker. His idiot had a special spark and without Sunstreaker he was going to get himself terminated and that was Unac-

Deleting that line of code hastily before it could begin to make its way further out of the recesses of his processor he focused on saving his idiot.

Sideswipe was pinging him over their bond and ranting something nonsensical about being a space barnacle. And _Sunstreaker_ was the weirdo who could never fit in.

//Right pede, Flappy C -//

//It’s okay I think I got it!//

He didn’t have it, but in a way that only Sideswipe could manage he clung and scrambled as the seeker tried to roll him off, scaling around the seeker as it rotated, ending up on the top of the seeker.

His idiot really was amazing. Sometimes.

Sideswipe was finally facing forward with his pedes on the ailerons and Sunstreaker was starting to think it might be more efficient to do Jet Judo laying sideways across their wings like Sideswipe had originally when he landed, or maybe facing backwards…he’d have to sketch it out and have Sideswipe model for him.

As he saw the third seeker come up behind Sideswipe, his spark pulsed in panic. There was no way he could leap that far to divert it, and he couldn’t control his seeker’s thrust -

//SIDES- // He started to pulse out in warning but the grey Praxian frame model they had saved shot at it and diverted it from its target lock on his precious special spark.

Then it was as if Sunstreaker’s entire reality slowed.

//Sunny…Did you just call me _Sides_?// The nudged open bond between them was vibrating with unbridled joy and it was rising in pitch as Sideswipe’s end blew open wide.

Fraggit. They had just come out of a spark sync a few cycles ago. He knew it had been a bad idea but he just couldn’t say no.

//No. Sideswipe I -//

//You did! You shortened my name. You gave me a _NICKNAME_!//

Then Sunstreaker was lost in the tide of joy, love and utter freedom that Sideswipe sang from his spark to him and he couldn’t resist it. 

He joined the melody and sang back.

Both of them laughed as smiles stretched their faceplates wide at the bliss of sync between their sparks as they clung to the leading edges of the wings and manipulated the control surfaces on the back of their seekers to make them divert vertically up into the sky. Spiraling and dancing about each other along their bond to their sparks, the seekers followed their every movement in a vertical spiral of their own into the sky as Sideswipe sang his verse.

When Sunstreaker started his, they abruptly slammed down and lifted pedes on stabilizers, unsheathed their blades while twisting, cutting and contorting wings, forcing their two seekers to collide into the top floors of a building.

As they tucked and rolled in unison onto the roof, still laughing, optics locked on each other with joy from the shear novelty of feeling whole, Sideswipe’s weak and damaged ankle joint that Sunstreaker was constantly repairing gave out. 

The sharp pain broke them from their bond sync.

And now they were so slagged because the building beneath them was collapsing and there was only one seeker left, they couldn’t possibly both make the leap to land on it at the same time with Sideswipe’s ankle, there was no logical solution that didn’t end in the termination of his -

“Hey Sunny!” Sideswipe was speaking outloud to avoid another sync while he ran with a limp across the roof. “I ever tell you the story about how Sideswipe got his jet pack?”

And Sunstreaker ran to catch up to him. As he met Sideswipe’s optics he tossed him the smile Sideswipe loved and pinged him with a ball of awe and devotion.

Because Sunstreaker had missed a parameter. 

And his idiot was fragging brilliant.

…………..

“This some kind of weird Decepticon circus performance?” Jazz asked from his position beside Prowl where they had just stopped to simply stare up at the mechs and their bizarre - and frankly astonishing - aerial combat?

Because Prowl wasn’t precisely certain anymore that these two mechs, who saved his little Blue from imminent termination with an illogical miracle - that normally only Wheeljack could manage to conceive let alone manufacture - were on their side.

“You certain they aren’t some of yours?” Prowl asked. It wasn’t unreasonable. Prowl hadn’t known Mirage existed for vorns and it had come as a shock when he learned that Bumblebee and Hound were in Spec Ops. 

Jazz had a habit of finding mechs and training them for his special operations division without informing Prowl. It was infuriating. In his strategies and calculations Prowl had been underutilizing Bumblebee and Hound’s talents and Jazz had just laughed at him saying that was the point.

“Naw they ain’t mine.” 

Their cover fire from the ground had been useless to attempt to help. The mechs leapt from seeker to seeker with a skill and pattern Prowl could simply not predict. Concerned their interference from the ground would cause one of them to lose their focus he tried to simply observe as Bluestreak keeping whatever seeker they were not currently on distracted seemed to be the best solution.

Then the red and yellow mechs had started laughing and spiraling up into the sky with the seekers as if they were all long lost friends. Except no seeker would ever permit the indignity of a ground frame _riding_ on them, let alone long enough to learn how to steer them. 

The thought was unthinkable. 

Except he was witnessing it.

Abruptly the seekers were jerked out of their acrobatic spiral and careened into the top of the highly unstable building Bluestreak had abandoned - and it began to crumble. Laughter echoed from between the buildings for a final klick as the source cut off. If the two seekers and the strange mechs that smiled and laughed as they played with them like toys weren’t already deactivated, they would be soon.

:Clear the area. That building is coming down. Retreat to, at minimum, the following coordinates: He sent his order of his calculated safe distance through the comms so Bluestreak could hear. Hound had come out of his cover and was standing next to Prowl squinting toward the roof.

“Uh Prowl?” He pointed at the roof.

:They’re still alive!: Bluestreak cheered through their comms. Then barely a klick passed before he continued. :Uh…I think they are going to drive off the roof?:

:What?!: Prowl just simply could not imagine how to even begin the calculations for the probability of the success of that decision because it just simply shouldn’t be an option any ground frame, sane or otherwise, would chose. 

:Well they just transformed into vehicle modes and they are - not going to make it: Bluestreak’s voice wilted over comms.

And that’s when Prowl heard it. The dull roar of high performance engines and unbelievably the two mechs that had saved his little Blue’s life launched themselves from the building one after the other.

The red one went first.

Part way down, the yellow one transformed into his root mode then used the roof of the red one in his vehicle mode as a launch pad, and leapt the final closing distance with a flip onto the back of the final seeker. Dropping to lay on his front facing the tail, he smirked down at his falling companion then focused on manipulating seeker control plating with his servos.

The red one transformed back into his root mode and was screaming and spinning end over end in free fall. 

And Prowl wanted to look away because from that height they couldn’t possibly stop his velocity without suffering a terminal injury themselves. About to finally avert his optics from the red mech, Prowl heard the sound of sputtered ignition, and in an improbable moment, the red mech’s velocity changed to zero from his fall - with jets of flames behind him.

His optics met Prowl’s and he gave the sloppiest salute Prowl had ever seen while shuttering an optic at him in a wink.

Then shot back up into the sky, with a primus damned _jet pack_ controlled thrust, and circled his companion on the seeker as both of them unsheathed energon blades and took turns alternating between pulling or kicking stabilizing control plating, and stabbing into transformation seams of the acid green seeker. 

As they past over head, Prowl could hear them yelling and arguing as they were literally tearing the seeker apart.

“Sunny that was my flappy!”

“I told you B! Flappy B! How can I possibly be more clear for you?”

“Ha! Got it!”

“That was C you idiot!”

Seeker plating was flying off, and Hound had to dodge out of the way from a spinning chunk of armor and a spray of processed energon splattered across Prowl and Jazz.

And as the small team of Autobots fled the area in to the direction Prowl predicted the red and yellow mechs had crashed with the seeker, the extremely unstable building the two mechs had been standing on when they had boldly leapt off to saved Bluestreak’s life collapsed behind the Autobots into rubble.

And Prowl hoped he had found two Wheeljack grade miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Sideswipe sings along their bond, before and during sync to Sunny: Starships by Nicki Minaj
> 
> Because Sideswipe would totally sing Nicki Minaj to Sunny.
> 
> My husband and my night ended with stacks of tissue boxes as buildings, my aircraft design text books, and little paper seekers being flown by little Terror Twins.
> 
> As a couple/friend bonding exercise: would recommend dissecting Jet Judo. There was much laughter. Especially when we discovered that Sideswipe ended up _sitting_ on his seeker as he went over the building just due to physics and the seeker's survival instincts, and it was so much better than what I had originally written.
> 
> Jet Judo is hard, and now I understand why the twins can't just jump on the backs of the seekers and shoot or stab them. The twins spend half their time just trying to hold on, ride the seeker out as the seeker tries to save itself, then kicking or pulling a flappie.


	11. Autobots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you get a glimpse of an outsider's perspective of Sunny and Sides, with a little bit from their point of view.

As they drew closer to where the acid green seeker had been forced to crash into the ground, Jazz suggested they transform, run silent, and creep up to observe. Sure the two insane mechs had saved Blue, and he knew Prowl was itching to get them enlisted, but Jazz wanted to assess their threat level before announcing themselves.

Because there was something _not right_ about how they took down those seekers together and it was prickling at the edges of Jazz’s instincts.

Jazz was dying to learn what the two ground frames had been doing up on top of that unstable building in the first place. They appeared at just the right moment. 

Everything was a little too perfect. 

It just didn’t add up.

When they arrived, the yellow one was standing on the back of the seeker and using his blade to carve into seeker control plating. At first, the red one was no where to be seen, then he popped up behind the twisted ruin of the deactivated seeker and waved a piece of armor plating in the air.

“I found it!”

“That’s not the vertical stabilizer!”

“What about this one?” Another part was held up and Jazz choked.

“You don’t want to know what part that is.”

“Well now I’m actually interested.” The red one brought the waste tank up to his face and narrowed his optics at it as he turned it around in his servos. 

He glanced covertly at his companion then started to extend his glossa toward it.

“Don’t lick it you idiot!” The yellow one ripped up a chunk of plating and whipped it at his companion who dodged with a simple sidestep without even looking away from the waste tank.

“Sideswipe come up here, I drew you a map.” Giving the waste tank one final skeptical look, the red one, Sideswipe apparently, shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder, then climbed up the back of the seeker to join his companion. 

His companion, had gone back to carving up the back of the seeker with his blade, ignored him.

Sideswipe stood on top of the seeker for a moment turning around in a circle, while he held out his servos as if spatially mapping out something only he could see, then he turned toward the tail, glared under his pedes, and stepped to his right.

“Sunny - wait there was a flappy F?”

The yellow one, Sunny apparently, just made a frustrated growl from his vocalizer and hopped down off to the other side of the deactivated seeker and out of view.

The Autobot salvage team probably should not have worried about being silent because the two mechs, were certainly not trying to hide their position. 

And as they watched them interact, Jazz could not figure out if they were still trying to take the seeker apart, or put it back together. 

Sideswipe had laid down sideways across the tail end of the seeker. Kicking and pulling at seeker control plating that were still attached, he made whooshing noises. He kicked too hard and the horizontal stabilizer popped off with a clang and an oops. Sunny popped back up into view with a vertical stabilizer, glared at him, carved a glyph on it and started to reattach it.

:I don’t think they mean any harm.:

:Bluestreak, they are crawling all over and _playing_ with a deactivated seeker, they are probably glitching.: Prowl warned.

Glitches were a strong possibility for their strange behaviour and combat. The majority of Neutrals had banded together and left off world in search of resources long ago, and who knew how long these two went without a proper medical scan let alone maintenance. 

They were probably riddled with viruses and glitches.

:They saved my life Prowl. And it’s just a fragging a seeker.:

:Bluestreak they -:

:Actually Bluestreak has a good point.: Jazz interjected. :Bluestreak is perfect for a first introduction. Mech’s find him unthreatening when he starts rambling, and give away more than you’d think when they let their guard down around him.:

Bluestreak beamed at Jazz and Prowl narrowed his optics between the two of them.

:Jazz if you’ve been training Bluestreak with consulting me first -:

:He’s an adult mech, Prowler. He can make up his own mind.:

Prowl continued to glare at him with his sensor panels held high on his back before he looked over at Bluestreak behind Jazz, and his expression softened.

:Fine. Jazz, you take the lead on this, assess their threat level and intentions toward the Autobots. Keep in mind that we have exhausted most of our resources and we do not know what surprises they may be carrying in their subspace. Do not frag it up and spook them off. I need those mechs if they are willing to enlist.:

:You wound me Prowler, you really do. You think I’d mess up a little interpersonal recruitment?:

Prowl looked between where Bluestreak was eagerly looking toward the two possibly insane and virus ridden mechs and responded to Jazz over a private channel between just the two of them.

:If you have to dispatch them - if they are too far gone - don’t do it in front of Blue. Get them alone and take care of it.:

:You’re a soft spark Prowler. You try to hide it behind your calculations and simulations, but I swear you’re as bad as Prime when it comes to trying to shield everyone under your command.:

Prowl simply looked away, but his sensor panels twitched in a way that only Jazz seemed to ever get out of him, once he started to sneak his way under his guard and became more than a frustrating annoyance to him.

It had taken longer than Jazz cared to admit, to due to professional and personal pride, to break down Prowl’s defensive walls.

Prowl was an extremely private mech, he kept his emotions controlled almost at all times - if a mech didn’t know what to look for - and his field was often pulled so tightly to his frame as to be non-existent. 

Breaking through his rigid emotionless calm was part of the fun in the beginning when it came to annoying Prowl. Getting a reaction out of Prowl had become a game to Jazz. Originally he annoyed him for the sake of being bothersome. It had amused Jazz immensely at the start to break his facade, but the friendship he earned in the process was the one he treasured most. 

Prowl wouldn’t explain why, and Jazz had never figured it out through other sources, but the Autobot SIC refused to form any kind of spark bond with him, Amica or otherwise. All he’d been able to determine was that Prowl’s refusal to form a spark bond had something to do with the Decepticon third in command, the butcher who passed himself off as a scientist, Shockwave.

No mech, not Jazz at his most purposefully irritating, not seekers who destroyed his home city of Praxus, not even Megatron, could cause Prowl’s field to flare in fury like mentions of Shockwave.

After he adopted Bluestreak, when he found the youngling in the rubble of Praxus, Prowl became less hard and finally let Jazz in past his wall, but no matter how much he loved and adored his little Blue, he never officially formed an adoptive creator spark bond with the traumatized youngling either. 

Jazz knew Bluestreak understood, like he did, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

Despite Bluestreak being raised and trained in a war, the Autobot’s best sniper shortly after he reached his adult frame, it didn’t matter to Prowl. He still couldn’t take his optics off the two possibly volatile mechs as his little Blue stepped out beyond cover to introduce himself - so Jazz could use him to study their behaviour and evaluate their threat level.

If Bluestreak got hurt because of Jazz secretly training Bluestreak for interrogation, Prowl would never forgive him.

“Hi guys! Thanks for the save.” Bluestreak waved excitedly as he popped out from behind his cover. 

What made this interaction even better for Jazz’s observations was Bluestreak’s genuine excitement to meet the two mechs that saved his life. Jazz was not above using that to get honest reactions out of them.

Both of the strange seeker riding mech actually froze at Bluestreak’s voice, going completely rigid as they stared at each other for a klick. The yellow one clamped his plating tight to his frame and stood stiffly, facing Bluestreak, as the red one looked up from the back of the seeker with a wide smile.

A little too wide in Jazz’s opinion.

“Look Sunny! I told you we made a new friend!” The red mech waved back excitedly as he stood up on the back of the seeker. “You have some huge bearings mech, fighting seekers like that.” 

And he leapt off from the top of the deactivated seeker to the ground, miming hanging from a zipline and shooting with his one servo making pew pew noises. As he landed his ankle jolted off to the side, causing him to stumble as it spit sparks.

“Why do I even bother.” The mech apparently named Sunny grumbled as he glared at the spark-spitting ankle of his companion as if it had offended him.

Bluestreak moved forward, sensor panels raising and lowering in his excitement.

“Well you guys have some huge bearings yourselves riding on the backs of seeker’s like that. I’ve never seen anything like it, how’d you learn how to do that?”

Sideswipe stared for a moment, enraptured with Bluestreak’s sensor panels and unbelievably his smile got even wider as he laughed.

“What? You’ve never seen Jet Judo before?” Then turning to include his companion in the conversation he called, “Sunny! He’s never seen Jet Judo before!”

His yellow companion just pulled a polishing cloth out of his subspace and started to polish his forearm plating, and didn’t even look up.

Smile a little strained as Sideswipe turned back toward Bluestreak from where his companion was ignoring him completely, he continued, “Guess you never caught any of my performances then?” 

Bluestreak shook his helm no. “Performances? Where did you perform riding on the backs of seekers? I’ve never heard of such a thing, I mean it was amazing, don’t get me wrong.”

Sideswipe puffed up his plating at the praise as he jabbed his thumb at his chest plating.

“I invented Jet Judo vorns ago as a youngling in Vos, with a seeker best friend of mine. Though of course in those days, the object of the game was to keep my seeker friend _away_ from the buildings. Had to change it up a little lately.” He shrugged and laughed as if diverting seekers mid-flight into buildings was no big deal.

“Well Jet Judo is possibly the craziest and most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” Bluestreak started walking closer, as he animated a playback and his sensor panels bouncing and twitching all over the place in his enthusiasm, Sideswipe was practically exploding at the appreciation of his bizarre combat he had apparently invented as a youngling.

Because that hadn’t been a lie - yet it was. 

It seemed like he was telling the truth, but there is no way. There would have been outrage in the city of Vos about a ground frame riding a seeker.

And Jazz would have heard of it. Jet Judo was exactly the kind of reckless thing he would have tried in his youth.

“When you first showed up on top of those seekers, I thought I had deactivated, I couldn’t believe it. I actually patted down my plating to make sure I didn’t become a spark ghost or something and when you hit that zipline, I thought you were dead for sure and I was resolved to at least watch your final moments to remember you in thanks for your sacrifice, but then I got distracted as Sunny jumped and rolled perfectly -“

“Gonna have to stop you right there friend.” The red mech interrupted, a hard edge to his smile causing Jazz’s cables to coil tighten and pneumatic lines to pressurize in preparation for a quick movement. The yellow mech’s engine had started to rumble and his attention suddenly locked on Bluestreak, polishing forgotten. 

Prowl’s grip was tightening on his gun.

“Since we just met you, you get a pass, but only I call this shiny ball of rumbles and grumbles behind me Sunny. To you, it’s Sunstreaker, or I’m going to have to put up with his complaining and whining. And let me tell you, a whining and complaining Sunny is the worst he just -“

“You only get away with calling me that idiotic name because you’ve broken so many processor chips lose over the vorns with all your stupid stunts.”

“I have not!” He turned to call over his shoulder to Sunstreaker who was glaring at him. “Okay maybe a few, but they were popped right back into place and you told me -” 

Sunstreaker marched toward him and jabbed him in the chestplate.

“I told you to stop trying to do that flip over the crevasse, it took me a whole cycle to cut you out!”

“And I told you I had it covered. I was making progress rust-slugging out!”

“And you think you don’t have any loose processor chips!”

The two of them went on bickering as if Bluestreak no longer existed. 

Bluestreak stood, a short distance away from them, helm whipping from one to the other for a few klicks before he interrupted them, and as they turned to him in unison, their optics huge, Jazz swore they had forgotten it wasn’t just the two of them here. 

Primus, how long had these two been alone together just surviving in ruins?

“Got it.” Bluestreak finally interrupted. “Sunstreaker, _not Sunny_. My designation’s Bluestreak nice to meet you.” And he held out his servo toward Sunstreaker. 

The yellow mech looked at it for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chestplate, clamped his plating tight as he glared at the offered servo as if it was covered in rust. 

The red one, darted to intercept, took Bluestreak’s servo in both his own and shook it enthusiastically. “I’m Sideswipe. Don’t mind Sunny, he doesn’t like to be touched.”

Still unnerved that he couldn’t get a solid read on either of their expressions in this context, Jazz decided it was time to observe them while he could control the directions of the conversation and commed Prowl that it was best that they all reveal themselves.

He didn’t want to keep tossing surprises at these mechs. The yellow one especially seemed to be on a short trigger.

Casually strolling out from behind his cover he leaned against some rubble.

“You mech’s ain’t from around here are ya?” Jazz asked and he paused as Sunstreaker abruptly moved and positioned himself in front of Sideswipe, engine revving in warning startling Bluestreak back a step.

Sideswipe pushed him aside saying “shoo, they are friendlies” with an exasperated exvent. Turning to look first at Jazz, he took in Prowl and Hound coming out from their own locations behind rubble. 

Then Sideswipe shuttered and optic in a wink at Prowl.

“What gave us away?”

Jazz wanted to sigh, but instead he smiled, genuine and friendly.

Apparently this mech had a thing for Praxians considering how riveted he was when he stared at Bluestreak’s sensor panels, and was now attempting to flirt with Prowl.

That certainly wouldn’t get him very far. 

“Well I don’t see an insignias and this is Autobot territory, so the question is, why stick out your neck plating for us Autobots?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Got sick of Kaon. Too much purple hovering around there lately, and you should have heard Sunny complain about the purple face thingies on his yellow plating, my audios were ringing for cycles.”

“Insignias you idiot.”

“I like face thingies better.” And Sideswipe returned his attention to Jazz without missing a beat - all smiles - as if he hadn’t just made a reference to a past as Decepticons.

“Then it was getting dull doing the whole neutral thing.” He waved his hand casually then thumbed beside him, “and Sunny here’s not much of a conversationalist. I’m kinda missing parties so I figured hey, those ‘Bots down there look like they could use some back up and I thought we’d send in our application.” And he jerked his helm to the side toward the downed and deactivated seeker behind them with a smile.

Jazz laughed and shook his helm as he continued to walk closer. “Can’t say we’ve ever seen an application like that. Mind if I -” He gestured to seeker’s remains.

“Go ahead!” Sideswipe stood back and gestured wide with his servo as if presenting the deactivate seeker to him.

As Jazz circled the around the downed seeker, he took in the glyphs carved into seeker control panels. They were simple glyphs of the Cybertronian alphabet, impeccably carved. 

Pausing, he picked up the waste tank that the red one had tossed over his shoulder and tossed between his servos as he whistled in admiration. It was intact and there was no cut, no hole that could explain why this component was outside of the seeker’s remains.

Despite Sideswipe’s casual tone and frame language, Sunstreaker still hadn’t relaxed, and he had his optics locked on Jazz the entire time he walked around the downed seeker.

He set the waste take on the nose cone of the seeker. Or what was left of it, then looked toward them. “Kaon eh?”

“Sparked and raised.” Sideswipe stated proudly, then thumbed to his companion beside him. “At least Sunny here was. I travelled a lot growing up, met all kinds of mechs, not really from no where really.” 

He was lying about that - yet he wasn’t. Just like what he had said about learning Jet Judo from a seeker friend in Vos.

This red mech was all over the place with his story. And Sunstreaker was still coiled tight in preparation for an attack. 

As if reading his processor, Sideswipe leaned forward toward Jazz and mock whispered, “Don’t mind Sunny, he’s just grumpy his plating got scratched in the fight.”

There was _something_ odd about Sideswipe that was setting off all kinds of his instincts and Jazz was starting to suspect it wasn’t a virus or a glitch. 

Running his servo over a few of the stab wounds on the side of the seeker as he completed the circuit back toward them, he thought this entire interaction from the moment they jumped off the building until now wasn’t adding up. Some of these punctures were precise, others were random.

Whether they learned to work together as Decepticons or Neutrals, was unclear but they certainly could barely work in concert - except Jazz remembered how seamlessly they controlled their seekers through the air. Jumping from one to another in a pattern and rhythm only they could predict, then spiraled their seekers perfectly up into the air for a moment, then simultaneously rammed them into the top of the building.

Looking back at them he shook his helm to the side, thinking of Kaon and Decepticons, he laughed out a joke as a compliment to possibly the Autobot’s most unusual job application since his own, “Where’d you mech’s train the fraggin’ Pits?” 

“Yup!” Sideswipe puffed up his plating in pride, and so did Sunstreaker after a klick, and Jazz’s mouth actually dropped open a little because it wasn’t often he was taken off completely guard. 

He looked back to the deactivated seeker again and back at the two apparent gladiators from the Pits of Kaon standing side by side. Puffed up in pride in Autobot territory.

Sideswipe was telling the truth.

“You ain’t joking are ya mech.” Jazz dropped his friendly tone suddenly serious.

Megatron and his Decepticon revolution had begun in the Pits. Not a single gladiator had ever joined the Autobots. 

They were all too loyal to Megatron for their freedom - or free reign. 

Most Autobots shuddered to even consider meeting a gladiator on the battle field. The majority of gladiators were not in the Pits by choice, Megatron himself chose it as a means to an end to escape his function as a miner under the old corrupt Senate and false Prime.

However there was a significant number who chose that life simply because they enjoyed it.

Jazz wasn’t most Autobots, and he was proud to notice that Bluestreak didn’t so much as twitch at the mention that they were gladiators. Prowl’s gun might be subspaced but he looked ready to blow their helms off if they so much as looked in Bluestreak’s direction. Jazz would get Hound’s analysis of their tells when he was done gathering his own.

“Why would I joke about a thing like that?” Sideswipe seemed honestly baffled by the abrupt change in Jazz’s demeanor and held out a servo to Sunstreaker as if he had been about to attack Jazz - except Sunstreaker hadn’t so much as ruffled his plating in indication. 

There was no way he couldn’t - did Sideswipe not understand the political significance, or that it would possibly be suspicious to use his real past as a cover while he tried to infiltrate the Autobots? 

Why hadn’t they simply pretended to be scavengers?

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were either the most obvious Decepticon spies he had ever seen, or the most devious because Jazz wasn’t sure which way to lean. Sideswipe was apparently telling the truth one second and lying the next and about little things that shouldn’t matter, so Jazz began to question if he was actually reading him right at all. 

“You telling me you mechs ain’t old Pit pals with Megatron?”

Sideswipe laughed. “Pit pals? That’s a good one.” Then he tossed and arm over Sunstreaker who tensed beside him at the touch. 

“Naw, me and Sunny, we’re Pit pals. _Megatronus_ is overrated. He’s a bit of a jerk to be honest, isn’t that right Sunny?”

Sunstreaker just continued to glare at Jazz. 

But now Jazz looked at _Sunny_ expecting a response. Because maybe he was easier to read. Sunstreaker looked away from his direction and glared at the ground. 

“In fact,” Sideswipe continued, voice tinged in irritation at his companions refusal to engage in whatever script Sideswipe was trying to lead him into in order to gain the Autobot’s trust, “Sunny here almost took Megatron out once in the ring.”

Now that got Prowl’s attention, hoping to gain even a shred of intel on the Decepticon leader, spies or no.

“C’mon, tell them why you didn’t get the killing blow. I promise, it’s funny but it’s better when Sunny tells it.”

Sideswipe bumped Sunstreaker with his hip plate. 

Sunstreaker cycled a ventilated sigh, shoved Sideswipe’s arm off his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chestplate and delivered possibly the worst joke Jazz had ever heard, staring straight at Bluestreak and ignoring Jazz completely.

“Megatron has had all his internals moved around. Nothing is where it’s suppose to be. His spark chamber could be in his pede for all I fragging know without opening him up.” An awkward silence descended on the group because Prowl had just straightened up and his sensor panels twitched as if -

“That ain’t a joke is it?” Because Sunstreaker had just delivered information and Prowl was looking like he was replaying through simulations. Suddenly a lot of battles and wounds that he observed should have deactivated the Decepticon Leader actually made sense.

Sunny just growled and turned to leave and Sideswipe hissed as his ankle spit sparks when he lunged after him to grab his arm plating.

“Wait, Sunny! They just didn’t understand you right.” A tinge of panic had laced Sideswipe’s field for a moment before it was gone and he looked from Bluestreak, to Prowl, to Hound, then settled on Jazz. 

“Can’t you just imagine?” And his field was tinged with humor as he darted at the edges of Jazz own and Jazz realized it had actually been intended as a joke and Sideswipe actually thought it was funny. 

“Imagine Megatron is fighting with that Prime guy and he kinda stumbles, right? But accidentally stabs Megzie in the pede then poof,” he motioned a _poof_ with one servo, “war’s over.”

Jazz did crack a smile at the words Prime guy and Megzie. He was definitely going to use those. To both of them. In the middle of a battle.

“See Sunny? Black and white ‘Bot with the visor is smiling, he got your joke.”

“You can’t possibly believe the war is that simple.” Prowl apparently had had enough of letting Jazz take the lead on this.

And before Sideswipe even opened his mouth Jazz could feel in his field it was going to be a lie.

“Of course not, that would be ridiculous, right Sunny?”

Because Jazz swore that Sideswipe actually did think the war was that simple, and he couldn’t figure out if Sideswipe was just that simple, or if he was as fragging hard to read as Soundwave.

So Jazz looked to Sunstreaker again and so did Prowl, Bluestreak, and Hound. 

Jazz commed them not to interrupt and to wait him out. He needed to try to get a read on the yellow one or see what Sideswipe would do to try to cover for him again. 

Because it was clear Sunstreaker did not want to be here having this conversation with Autobots.

After a few more uncomfortable klicks past Sunstreaker’s engine started to rumble as he glared at Sideswipe, who was apparently messaging him over internal comms. 

Finally Sunstreaker pulled his arm out of Sideswipe’s servo again, turned, and jumped onto the back of the deactivated seeker and unsheathed his blade.

…………………

Sideswipe should have known that as soon as the Autobots hadn’t laughed at one of Sunstreaker’s famous jokes about Megatron that never failed to get Sideswipe laughing, that his Sunny would start getting frustrated that he was messing up this social interaction.

That black and white ‘Bot that kept looking at him had a visor and Sunny was freaked. 

The visor made it difficult for him to interpret the expressions he was always trying to memorize, and every time Sideswipe had been getting him to try to say something, he’d respond that if he talked he’d frag it up for them.

For a mech that grew up with exclusive interaction with Shockwave’s single creepy optic, Sunny had a hard time reading frame language the more a mech’s optics or mouth were obscured. 

Without the ability to feel fields, Sideswipe supposed that made a lot of sense.

Fragging Shockwave had made it so Sunny never had to guess if he was acting right or wrong in a situation with his creepiness and his fragging acceptables and unacceptables.

So to deliver his joke, Sideswipe had told him to look at the friendly grey ‘Bot they had saved because he seem really happy to see them, had no parts of his faceplate obscured, and his field had been positively pulsing with interest and fascination in them.

Plus Sideswipe couldn’t wait to poke at his door wingies he kept flapping all over the place.

But then the fragging Autobot’s had made Sunstreaker question if Sideswipe was telling him the truth that Sideswipe found his story funny, because they hadn’t laughed. Hoping the Autobots weren’t all this dull and unimaginative when it came to his Sunny’s jokes, Sideswipe decided to try and spell the joke out for them.

When he tried to get Sunstreaker to try to engage with the Autobots again, telling him over their bond with further encouragement that he should try again, Sunstreaker’s frustrations reached the point of no return as he refused to continue Sideswipe’s charade.

And as Sideswipe tried to scramble up to the seeker to stop him, his ankle joint finally completely went out sending him crashing to the ground and he could only ping Sunny frantically to stop, as he watched him expertly remove a plate of armor panelling from the seeker, make a single cut then reach in and toss the deactivated seeker’s helm at Jazz’s pedes.

He completed the action in less than three klicks.

At the shock and disturbed feeling from Jazz’s field, Sideswipe’s spark sunk and he tried to smile at the Autobots to start damage control. He pushed himself back up onto one pede and hopped around on his functional strut, but he knew his smile didn’t reach his optics right, so he pulled his field in tight from where it had been darting around the creeped out edges of theirs. 

They _needed this_. They need the Autobots to like them. Sunny was going to become just like his Creator out here trying to keep Sideswipe alive. 

Half of Sideswipe’s internals left constant flashing red alerts on his HUD. 

Sunny had fixed him, but a lot of what he did was trial and error. The repairs held, but his systems didn’t register them as fixed. And sometimes they would randomly burst open, or slowly start to leak.

He tried to stop getting injured so much, but it was just so hard to tell what would actually result in injury. He didn’t know how Sunny could do it.

And that last time - he suppressed a shudder at the memory of the mech’s field Sunstreaker had modified to work as a living energon circulation machine…without the Autobots…

Then Sunstreaker spoke, even though Sideswipe was pinging him frantically to stop - 

//Stop Sunny. Just stop! I can fix this, just give me a klick, I can fix this.//

He had to fix this.

…………………

As Sideswipe scrambled after his companion and his ankle joint gave out, Jazz held out his hand so none of the Autobots pulled their weapons.

Sunstreaker removed an armor panel while Sideswipe was trying to scramble up the seeker after him, and after a single slice, he sheathed his blade again, reached in, and pulled out the helm of the deactivated seeker, held it up then promptly tossed it at Jazz’s pedes. 

Arms crossed, Sunstreaker glared down at Jazz as he stood there in silence. He didn't have a single new drop of processed energon on his servo.

Prowl was comming him if that was some kind of threat, and Jazz responded that at least it hadn’t been a grenade. 

He simply wasn’t certain what it meant at first and that was very unlike Jazz when it came to reading the social interactions of mechs, this had come out of no where. 

He was the Autobot’s chief spy, chief sneak, and he still couldn’t get a solid read on them. 

Sideswipe said unbelievingly that they were ex-gladiators, ex-Decepticons, trying to be ex-Neutrals as they were applying to be Autobots. Sunstreaker apparently wanted nothing to do with it as he refused to even interact with the Autobots. 

The two mechs didn’t seem like they wanted to fight, then again one of them was injured.

Then when Sunstreaker spoke, it suddenly all made sense.

“You saw his application, now you’ve seen mine. Either you fragging Autobots want us or you don’t, but I’m wasting my time here while this idiot hops around on one strut trying to make friends with you, when I could be looking for a part to replace his fragging joint that he broke saving your ungrateful afts.”

A performance. 

Sideswipe had said it himself.

These ex-gladiators from the Pits of Kaon - ex-Decepticons that should be unquestioningly loyal to Megatron - were desperate for resources and did actually want to be Bots. 

They were actually trying to impress them and Sideswipe was worried that if they showed their true selves they would scare them off - had been trying to keep Sunstreaker from, apparently, _showing off_.

Because that’s what the helm at Jazz’s pedes meant. 

In a single seamless movement he had removed the seeker’s helm from his alt mode and tossed it at Jazz. That cut was sliced clean through, he’d gone straight to where that seeker’s helm was in his flight mode. 

Sunstreaker _could have_ found where that helm was located as he and Sideswipe crawled all over that deactivate seeker, but…Jazz replayed the memory files of the speed and accuracy of that motion, and had a nagging feeling of instinct in his spark that Sunstreaker _might_ have been able to take out the seeker like that as he rode around on his back and toyed with them as they showed off for that entire performance.

Primus, if that’s what they did while they were showing off and toning it down, what could they do when they actually fought?

:Don’t know why they don’t want to be Decepticons anymore but they’re telling the truth Prowl. They want to be ‘Bots and we got ourselves our first ex-Gladiators recruits if they can pass Rung’s psych evals.:

Prowl didn’t respond but Jazz knew he would already have at least five units he was calculating that could use their skills - and one if they didn’t manage to pass their psych evals.

The Autobot SIC could be cold and calculating when it came to dividing up their dwindling resources. And he didn’t like to waste anything or any mech that could be of use which is why he had formed the Wreckers. He tried to keep the Autobots safe to the best of his ability, but they were at war, and sometimes it did come down to sacrifices being made. 

Jazz understood that, Pits, Jazz might have more energon on his servos than Prowl. 

Difference was, Prowl took each deactivation he couldn’t predict hard. In a way, with his strategies, Prowl took Autobot lives as well as Decepticons. Jazz was an expert at taking Decepticon lives in the dark.

“Our base is a cycle’s drive from here, you alright to transform my mech?” Jazz asked.

Sideswipe smiled a wide, genuine smile then turned to look at Sunstreaker who was still glaring at Jazz.

“Hear that Sunny? We’re getting Autobot red face thingies!”

Sunstreaker turned his attention toward Sideswipe and gave a strange lopsided grimace toward him, presumably at the use to the word “thingies instead of insignia” but it didn’t start another fight.

Before they transformed to head out, Sideswipe looked from Bluestreak, to Prowl, to Hound, and finally Jazz, frowned, and leaned over with a loud mock whisper to Prowl.

“We don’t have to change our paint to something dull and boring like all you guys right?”

Hound chuckled and Sideswipe smiled at him.

“We do have codes of appearance and mandatory maintenance standards that you will be informed of in basic training. Ultra Magnus is quite thorough with his instructional periods of the Autobot Code.” Prowl smirked at him and Jazz couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of these ex-gladiators having to sit through that. 

“But paint colours and detailing are left up to individual expression.”

Sideswipe just beamed toward Sunstreaker as he nudged him with his elbow. “Good, because I really don’t want to listen to Sunny gripe and complain about another faction messing up his appearance.”

It was such an odd thing to chose to lie about. 

Sideswipe’s field had spiked in a strange combination of joy and boredom at the mention of Ultra Magnus explaining rules, and Jazz was _certain_ that Sideswipe was the one who didn’t want their paint changed, not Sunstreaker. 

Yet Sunstreaker was standing there, refusing to look at any of the Autobots as he polished his plating so it appeared to be the truth.

Jazz was going to have to ask Ratchet to run a diagnostic on his systems. He’d made so many black market upgrades to how he structured his processor in the past to avoid getting scanned by Soundwave, and now he must finally be glitching like Ratchet always yelled that he would.

Either that or these ex-gladiators were still hiding something, and Jazz hoped that he could pry out why they had left the Decepticons.

He had a feeling that was the root of all his unanswered questions about them.

And as they started driving he paid close attention to Sideswipe as he darted around their convoy and occasionally drove backwards directly in front of Sunstreaker. 

Sideswipe was just plain odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter was long.
> 
> Do it Sideswipe. Touch Prowl's door wingies. I dare you.
> 
> Keeping track of all of Sideswipe's half truths and Sunstreaker's blatant honesty or lies, and who hears and discusses what piece of information about their past and makes assumptions with who is starting to drive me insane.


	12. Operation Giggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Reference to drug abuse and overdose in this chapter.  
> \------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Excellent question about the timeline of this AU behind the scenes in comments last chapter. You don't get a lot of info from Sideswipe's perspective because he doesn't have a lot of frame of reference for history. 
> 
> In a few chapters when you get Optimus' perspective, hopefully I can clear up any lingering questions of Cybertron behind the scenes and what I picked and pulled from various canons for this AU successfully through him.

//Hear that Sunny? They got rules and a Bot that’s _thorough_ in explaining them. You’re going to fit in just fine with the Autobots.//

Sideswipe smiled as he nudged Sunny with his elbow, pulsing encouragement over their bond, while he told the Autobots a different story.

“Good, because I really don’t want to listen to Sunny gripe and complain about another faction messing up his appearance.”

This was going to work. Sideswipe was going to make this work. 

Sunny was still clamped up tight as he polished his plating as an excuse to avoid optic contact with the Autobots, but that was okay, once the Autobot’s explained the rules, his Sunny would have a role and be more comfortable.

The Pits and the Decepticons didn’t have a ton of rules and honestly, Sideswipe barely noticed a difference in his life moving from one to the other. Sideswipe had flourished with his freedom, he got to do what he wanted, when he wanted - for the most part. It wasn’t like he could leave when he was under his lifetime contract for his adult frame but it wasn’t like he knew a better place they could go anyway. In the Pits there were parties with lots of hi-grade, and as long as he didn’t interfere with the Pit Bosses’ business, they didn’t really care what he did, or poked - or exploded - outside of a match.

His Sunny however, didn’t know what to do with himself outside of the ring or a battle where he had a clear objective. So he lurked in the shadows and stared at other mechs with his datapad in his servo. Drawing their frames, he tried to predict where their internals might be located, then tested his theories in matches.

It was like a puzzle for him - a game - and it helped him relax.

Mechs who didn’t understand his Sunny found it creepy, but it wasn’t like Sunstreaker was _actually_ planning on killing them outside the ring. Sunny didn’t walk around stabbing mechs and ripping their arms off or anything - as long as they didn’t touch him anyway.

And that was hardly Sunny’s fault. Avoiding damage was like a reflex for him, plus Sideswipe got tired of all the mechs with their creepy, skeevy fields that didn’t get weirded out from Sunny’s demeanor, trying to touch him. So Sideswipe told him to show them they should frag off.

They hadn’t been Decepticons long, a couple of battles or so before they saw Shockwave at one of Megatron’s boring speeches that Sunny always listened intently to so Sideswipe never bothered. The Pits had been the Decepticon main grandstanding and monologuing base as far as Sideswipe could tell. Megatron used the telecast system that use to broadcast matches to send out his speeches across Cybertron, so really, it was the Decepticons that moved into Sideswipe’s new home. As far as he was concerned, he was there first. 

But all his gladiator friends were getting purple face thingies and it seemed like the thing normal mechs were doing so he went along with it, telling Sunny over their bond to do the same.

The only difference was when Sideswipe started pushing all the buttons in the Decepticon’s weapons locker - which had some of the _best_ explosions - he got punished differently. 

The Pit Bosses had only ever shocked him with an electro-prod when he stepped out of line and Sideswipe had shaken that off easily enough. Punishment from the Decepticons however had been extremely painful and eventually he fell offline with his spark exposed strapped to a table. The ‘Con that had him strapped to that table disappeared the next cycle after Sideswipe onlined and was released. 

Over the next decacycle, bits and pieces of him started showing up nailed to walls and on tables around the Pits. It was hardly surprising to Sideswipe, but as his friends looked at him in awe while he just shrugged and pretended he didn’t know what was going on.

Sunstreaker had been away at a battle when Sideswipe got caught digging through the weapons locker, and apparently his Sunny had torn opponents and Decepticons alike to pieces when he felt Sideswipe’s pain, followed by him offlining over their bond. Word was Lord Megatron himself knocked Sunny offline to stop him from tearing through his own troops after awhile. 

The leader of the Decepticons had been impressed, and asked Sunny what he wanted for a reward when he onlined again.

Sideswipe could feel how furious Sunny was over their bond, as he calmly asked for that specific ‘Con from Megatron as his reward. Sunny dragged that screaming ‘Con silently off into the shadows and Sideswipe knew better than to go looking to see where he was slowly dismantling him alive. 

Their bond hadn’t been cold and detached, it was red hot in fury so Sideswipe left him alone.

Mech was a slagface anyway. He’d laughed at Sideswipe’s special spark, said it was stunted and small. Sparks were private, not to be displayed. Rusted aft had no business looking at his, and Sunny told him it was perfect - assured him it _was_ very special when he asked. 

Sunny would know, he’d looked at a lot of sparks, both in the lab with the ultimate creep face, and in the ring. 

The crowds had gone wild when Sunny had started ripping out his opponents sparks shortly before the Decepticons moved in.

But they didn’t normally talk about those things, like what Sunny knew about sparks and Shockwave creepy stuff.

When they began their new life as Neutrals, Sideswipe learned that Sunny had gotten so use to not being touched outside the ring or battle, he dodged or attacked Sideswipe out of reflex to protect himself from damage. And that really bothered Sideswipe. _He_ should be able to touch his Sunny unexpectedly without Sunny ducking out of the way or trying to stab him. 

Worse though was how bad Sunny would feel over their bond every time he ended up lashing out toward Sideswipe. 

So Sideswipe came up with a brilliant solution: Operation Giggles, where he started to ambush Sunstreaker for tickle attacks treatments when he was certain they were alone on the edges of the cities they hid in, and later among their rubble.

In hindsight he probably should have talked about Operation Giggles to Sunny first. The first time he executed his operation and tickle attacked Sunstreaker, he’d gotten a blade through a transformation seam on his leg. Sunstreaker had frozen instantly in guilt and horror, while he tried to retreat along their bond when he realized what he had done. 

Sideswipe wasn’t about to let a blade through his leg deter him from Operation Giggles, and continued his relentless tickle assault. Digits reached and wiggled in between transformation seams, searching out and seeking sensitive wires. But his weirdo stayed rigid, flickering optics huge, as he started to panic and thrash along their bond.

His weirdo thought his systems were crashing and his spark was guttering. 

It had taken Sideswipe joors to calm him down, and explain the illogical logic of tickling and why it was fun. And it took longer for Sunny to stop unsheathing his blade and flinching as Sideswipe unexpectedly tackled him to the ground, or pounced on him from high up on rubble. 

And even longer before Sunny tried to tickle Sideswipe back. 

Sunny’s first attempts at tickling had been pathetically soft and hesitant, barely ghosting a digit into one to Sideswipe’s seams to reach the wires as he stared intently at Sideswipe’s faceplate searching for any hint of discomfort. But Sideswipe had squealed and squirmed in laughter while pulsing encouragement along their bond because he loved the attempt anyway.

When Sideswipe really got Sunny laughing with Operation Giggle attacks, he’d snort air through his nasal ridge. Then his Sunny’s faceplate would heat in embarrassment, Sideswipe thought that was adorable. He would tickle him harder until Sunny was a squirming mess of snorts, and both of their cooling fans whirred and strained under their heated frames.

As they were driving with the Autobots, it became obvious that Sunstreaker was still nervous about their plan to join them, and the banter over the commlink frequency they had shared with the two of them was freaking him out.

Sunstreaker listened but refused to engage in the banter with Sideswipe and the others, too afraid that he couldn’t find the right moment or reaction to the jokes and laughter - in their vehicle modes he only had tone of voice to go on. 

Bluestreak however seemed determined to befriend Sunny and drove beside him while chattering through comms at his silent audience. Sideswipe was starting to really like Bluestreak for his attempts, not once did his field feel creeped out by Sunny’s non-responsiveness when he left a silent uncomfortable gap in a conversation where he was suppose to respond. 

The grey mech would just pick up the conversation as if Sunstreaker had answered him, and Sideswipe was bolstered that this was going to work - if he could only get Sunny to respond and come out of his shell of silence he’d locked himself in.

He kept poking encouragement over their bond, but Sunstreaker was only interested in talking to Sideswipe through their private spark connection.

//I never complained about the Decepticon insignia on my plating, and you are the one who likes me yellow. Why would it be necessary to lie to them about that to get them to trust us?//

While Sideswipe had his conversations with the Autobots over the comms, Sunny apparently had been running through their first social interaction with other mechs - that didn’t result in the other mech’s deactivation in far longer than Sideswipe cared to admit - and was falling back into old habits of replaying and trying to categorize each Autobot’s distinct combination of expressions and features he couldn’t instinctually understand.

When Sideswipe’s weirdo was stressed, he _studied_.

Feeling out his Sunny along their bond, he was still tense with all the Autobots around them and worried that perhaps they had seen the brief moment they bond synced during the battle and might be lying to them so they could study Sideswipe’s special spark.

Most of all though, he was frustrated that he couldn’t figure out why Sideswipe would have lied about that. 

Sideswipe was the one who had complained at the sight of the purple Decepticon insignia on _his_ Sunny’s chestplate. 

When they first escaped the lab and decided it was too dangerous to look similar, Sideswipe had chosen their paint colours. He had purposefully chosen a shade of yellow for Sunstreaker so he’d _never_ look good next to purple, then he chose an even brighter attention grabbing red for himself so mechs would look at him over his Sunny.

Sideswipe never told Sunny why he liked him yellow. Just told him that’s the colour he had decided Sunstreaker was in his stories. He didn’t like to remind Sunstreaker about his Creator - didn’t like how Sunny would _feel_ sometimes when the monster was brought up unexpectedly, before he had a chance to squish it back down.

Suntreaker’s side of their bond could burn in a cold fury at the thought of Shockwave, but other times -

Those feelings were brief, but they were anything but cold. 

So Sideswipe used a half truth - even to Sunny - which was not something that he did often, and reminded himself that he was doing this to protect Sunstreaker from that creepy monster that liked to touch him.

//Remember our cover story? I figured it was a good cover for you maintaining your finish scratch and chip free. If they think you are obsessed with your looks, vain, and aloof, when you don’t talk to Autobots sometimes, you’ll get a pass.//

That, and Sideswipe _had_ hoped the Autobot’s weren’t as boring as their paint variety surrounding him. Hiding his Sunny from that purple creep was worth it, but Sideswipe really didn’t want to be boring with rules for rest of his function. 

//That is -//

Sideswipe pinged him hard over their bond.

//- that makes sense.// Sunstreaker amended but Sideswipe knew exactly what he was going to say before Sideswipe pinged him.

Fragging Shockwave and his slagging logic.

The Pits were always loud, full of excitement, overcharged mechs, and things to poke at and being Neutrals had been the best until they started starving. Hopefully the Autobots had rules _and_ freedom, though Sideswipe couldn’t imagine how that was a thing. 

But they needed the Autobots. Sunny needed this.

Still, Sideswipe wondered what the Autobot’s punishments were for breaking rules and how much it would hurt? Because Sideswipe had a hard time with rules when his digits itched to reach out and touch everything around him. 

At the very least, the Autobots would have to cut his spark out of his frame to look at it when they strapped him down for a punishment. He and Sunny had designed and installed a protective shells around it. Once Sideswipe locked his special spark down, only one of them could override it in his coding. Sunny promised him even Shockwave couldn’t get through by plugging into his wrist dataport.

Something about Sunny encoding the lock with spark frequencies or something. Sideswipe didn’t really understand the coding, but he had fun helping make the mechanisms. Sunny call him and idiot, then smiled because Sideswipe came up with some kind of locking solution he had never considered. Sideswipe had shrugged and said he just liked how the components fit together, it reminded him of something one of his neighbors described to him once.

Despite their precautions Sunny was still worried so Sideswipe pulsed reassurance over their bond.

//Don’t worry Sunny. You see how the Autobots climbed all over themselves to help once you pointed out I was injured? We’ve save a couple of mechs with soft sparks. This is going to be _easy_.//

Sideswipe had no idea exactly what made a mech’s spark soft. Sparks were private so it was not like he ever looked at or touched another mech’s - Sunny didn’t count. Maybe Sunny knew what made a mech’s spark soft but they never talked about _those things_. 

Soft sparks was a term he had heard in the Pits and he watched long enough to figure out how to use it. And when he did, mechs had reacted right, so he figured he could use it well enough to not be suspicious. 

When mechs got injured and another mech cared or looked away, that was an indication that a mech had a soft spark, and they were suppose to be easy to manipulate, and an object of scorn.

Since he and Sunny cared if each other got hurt, Sideswipe had often wondered if their sparks were only kinda soft with a little bit of squish.

:Anyway -: Sideswipe turned his attention back to Bluestreak’s play by play of their master job application as he had been talking to Sunstreaker over the comms trying to get him to engage with him. :- when you came in through that window next to me, I thought I heard you mutter something about going to save your idiot when you cleared it but you were gone so fast and -:

:Wait, _Sunny_! You were talking to yourself? _Out loud_? About _me_? Awe, I’m so touched!:

And Sideswipe nudged their bond open a little wider so Sunny could hear his teasing song, but it was wrapped in pride, approval and vibrating with excitement. Sideswipe had worked hard during their time as Neutrals to break Sunstreaker out of the shadow of Shockwave. Operation Giggles had evolved over time from tickle attacks to anything that encouraged Sunny out of his shell of Creation. 

Using his silly words and short forms for things he knew Sunny would want to correct him on was part of it. Sunstreaker was a huge perfectionist and worried about following rules, even when they didn’t exist. Sideswipe made it his personal mission to remind him of all the fun thingies and flappies that surrounded them, and that it was okay to not always be technically right all the time.

Learning he had _muttered_ \- out loud - when Sideswipe hadn’t been anywhere near him was a Operations Giggles success! That was huge for Sunny who had been told it was only acceptable to be quiet and still, except for certain fragging structured lesson times.

Sideswipe wondered idly how long he’d been muttering where Sideswipe couldn’t hear for. 

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that he _had_ muttered out loud, even under a stressful situation.

Sideswipe was still working on the stomping thing with Sunny in Operation Giggles. When he told him to stop hanging around edges and corners in the shadows of things, and to walk louder, it was like Sunny flipped a switch. He started stomping and walking straight down the middle of everything. 

Even now with the Autobots, he was driving straight down the middle of their convoy and would refuse to move for an obstacle, like Sideswipe driving backwards in front of him, in his path. If Sideswipe stopped, Sunny’d just transform, and flip over him with as much noise as possible, then go back to driving in the middle of the road.

Sunny, didn’t do subtle well if he couldn’t do silent and sneak. He’d get there though. Operation Giggles had made so much progress in the past.

Most of their time as Neutrals had been just the two of them, and it would have been amazing if they hadn’t started starving and had to scrounge for parts all the time.

But there was a time of perfection in their freedom, after the Pits and the Decepticons, after most of the cities had fallen and Cybertron’s population dwindled - before resources became too scarce and looking for them took up all their time. Those precious moments had been the best of Sideswipe’s life: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and their Epically Grand and Totally Amazing Adventures Across Cybertron.

That was the official title Sideswipe had decided on after much debate with Sunny. His Sunny had argued that Sideswipe’s name should come first, but Sideswipe refused to bend on that. Sunstreaker had always been his favourite wire mech by a tiny margin and they had stolen parts of their lives from Sideswipe’s stories to live as their own. 

Sideswipe wanted to call their adventures SSEGTAAAC for short, that way, he could say they were SSEGATAAACing around Cybertron. But Sunny went quiet and still, retreating from their bond at the suggestion. 

Shortening titles of things reminded him of Bob sometimes. 

What exactly had happened to Bob had never been explicitly stated the one time Sunny was willing to talk about it along their bond, while they were still in the Pits, but Sideswipe knew enough about fragging creepy Shockwave to fill in the gaps. Sunny had fought some turbo hounds in the ring and one hadn’t wanted to fight back. He’d taken its deactivation hard, and tried to numb his emotions with sedatives before Sideswipe managed to notice, learning he’d been doing that for awhile. 

Sideswipe had been too busy and over charged enjoying freedom, he didn’t realize how hard things had gotten for Sunny with his emotions in his isolation.

So Sideswipe loaded up on fortified nucleon injections in his subspace when they left the Decepticons, in case Sunny ever tried to escape his own emotions about Bob with sedatives again. He’d never had to use them to clean his lines, but he was never letting his Sunny ever so much as touch another sedative just in case.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and their Epically Grand and Totally Amazing Adventures Across Cybertron took them all sorts of places Sideswipe wanted to see from his stories as a youngling. And their adventures were a perfect compliment to Sideswipe’s private goals of Operation Giggles with Sunny.

Together they had visited the ruins of Praxus and hunted for the remains of the Crystal Gardens. When they found it, it was so much more beautiful than Sideswipe’s grimy energon cube he had stored far under his berth. Sunny’s side of the bond had resonated with interest and awe when they found the first crystal fragments, just like he had when they had lived in the lab, and Sideswipe would send him the emotions of his stories over their growing bond.

They spent cycles in a bond sync together among the gardens as they hunted for crystal shards with Sideswipe leading their songs. Each fragment they found was more beautiful than the last.

Sideswipe had found a large orange crystal shard that sparkled inside if held at just the right angle. It was almost as big as his servo and it made him think of Sunny. So he darted over to him and gave it to him, saying he should keep it, because red and yellow made orange and blending the two colours together just felt right. 

Sunny asked what he had done to earn the gift, and Sideswipe shrugged, closing it into his servo saying it was a Just-Because gift - just because he was his Sunny.

The surprise gift of the crystal fragment made his Sunny’s faceplate heat adorably and his cooling fans clicked and whirred as he held it reverently in his servo. 

He still pulsed their bond with a shy adoration every time he held it gently in his servos to look at it. 

The next cycle he felt Sunny go oddly focused for a short time over their bond as they continued their treasure hunt.

They fell out of their bond sync as Sunny constricted his side of the bond abruptly and stopped singing back to him. Sunny clamped up tight and kept shooting glances Sideswipe’s way he didn’t think Sideswipe noticed. His side of the bond was positively resonating with nervous uncertainty and Sideswipe couldn’t manage to pry out why. 

Sometimes Sunny would lock himself tight, and only let a little bit of his emotions leak out from Sideswipes pokes, but he never tied their bond shut.

A few decacycles later though, Sunny shyly nudged a yellow crystal shard into Sideswipe’s servos as he gave him the smile Sunny kept only for him. He didn’t have to say it. Sideswipe knew it was a Just-Because gift. Tackling Sunny to the ground, he said that it was perfect, that he loved it and would treasure it - every word the truth. 

His weirdo had found that crystal the cycle after Sideswipe had given him his orange one but had been working up the nerve to give it to Sideswipe, as if he was worried Sideswipe wouldn’t love his first ever Just-Because gift from his Sunny. 

At the Sea of Rust they went rust-slug riding - well riding had been the plan anyway. Rust slugs were _huge_ and a lot faster than he thought they would be. Sideswipe had barely managed to out run it - he had been laughing so hard at Sunny swearing at him over their bond. 

As Sideswipe narrated Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and their Epically Grand and Totally Amazing Adventures Across Cybertron, they scaled the ruins of the seeker city of Vos, and saw its splendor from their perch high up on the remnants of buildings.

_Vos_. Just a hint of their adventure there made Sideswipe’s spark spin and leap, his fuel pump race, and fans click and whirr at the memory.

His Sunny drew a lot of pictures on his datapad he had in his subspace the day they escaped the lab. The drawings were always perfect replicas of the mech he was observing and their predicted internal locations. 

And they were good. Technically perfect.

But their pictures of the city of Vos - those were Sideswipe’s favourite. They made those together. 

From their private perch, with their legs dangling off the edge, Sideswipe described what he thought the city had looked like based on stories from Carrier. Sunny drew what he described - after he had finished grumbling and complaining for decacycles that drawing what he couldn’t see didn’t make any sense. 

When he finally showed the drawings to him after he made Sideswipe promise he wouldn’t laugh, Sideswipe hugged his Sunny’s drawings of Vos to his chestplate like the treasure they were. Sunstreaker had shuddered and his cooling fans had strained as Sideswipe pulsed wonder and praise along their bond. 

It was Sunny who tackled him to the ground then, and both their chestplates had popped open to reveal their sparks reaching together like they couldn’t control it.

High up in their refuge, chestplates locked and their sparks as one, they recharged, forehelms pressed together, limbs intertwined and tangled, for the first time since they had escaped the lab, and it had been bliss. 

In Vos, no mech came to tear them apart. 

They stayed locked together and lost count of the number of cycles, time didn’t matter. Finally as one, he noticed low fuel warnings. Separating his sparks into two frames after three cycles as one had been the hardest thing they had ever done. They were locked in sync as one mech in two frames for five cycles as they danced and sang along their sparks to each other among the ruins of Vos. 

That mech with two frames drew more pictures of and all the wonders he had seen on Cybertron when he was two. Two servos, one left belonging to his red frame, one right belonging to his yellow, drawing together on a single datapad in sync as he lay precariously on top of at the highest point he could reach.

Sideswipe carried a copy of all those drawings around in his subspace on an old datapad he had salvaged. A precious treasure from the cycle Sideswipe _finally_ got Sunny to use his imagination with him, and it was his most prized possession. He has a special subspace pocket on his left leg where he kept it safe with his little wire mechs and his yellow Just-Because crystal from Praxus.

Those vorns of just the two of them, basking in freedom and exploring the wonder and splendor of Cybertron had been perfect. 

Everything started to fall apart and Shockwave started to win over Operation Giggles when resources became too hard to find. All the progress Sideswipe had made to distance his Sunny from Shockwave started to disintegrate and Sideswipe had been helpless to stop it as Sunny used everything he learned from that monster to keep Sideswipe alive.

Sunny stopped trying to tickle him, he started to close himself off more along their bond, became obsessed with finding parts and trying to predict Sideswipe’s next injury. 

Worst of all, he stopped trying to draw what he couldn’t directly see and using his imagination with Sideswipe. 

But resources didn’t matter anymore, and soon they would finally get a chance to see the city of Iacon together. Sunny had never allowed them to go anywhere near it, no matter how much Sideswipe begged and pouted. Now though, learning that Sunstreaker had muttered - muttered outloud - Sideswipe was starting to vibrate his side of their bond with excitement again. 

Operation Giggles was back and going to win over fragging creepy Shockwave.

:Shut your mouth. Don’t you fragging dare: Sunstreaker finally responded over their public comms, and their spark bond as he revved his engine at Sideswipe in a warning not to entice him into another sync.

Normally Sunstreaker could resist joining any of Sideswipe’s songs if he didn’t want to, but this close after their spark merge in the ruins on the outskirts of Iacon a few cycles ago, the urge to be one was stronger than ever.

Sideswipe gleefully laughed into their comms system and contented himself with the memory of Sunstreaker joining his melody as they danced and spiraled seekers in the sky. He hummed and sang to Sunny along their bond, an echo of the melody as he drove backward directly in front of him, and darted out around him in circles, weaving among the Autobots then back again being as illogical as possible.

Just being himself that his Sunny loved.

His Sunny’s voice was beautiful and he had a way with pitches and harmony that Sideswipe had never quite managed. He would join Sideswipe in a melody rarely, only if intending to sync or a few times by accident like he had during Jet Judo. 

Most of the time, he was content to listen to Sideswipe’s silly little songs and send little ping patterns of enjoyment and applause in return. Sometimes Sideswipe could catch him trying to hum quietly to himself in his spark, but if Sideswipe joined or mentioned it, he immediately stopped.

Sunstreaker hadn’t initiated a single starting melody along their bond since they escaped the lab. No matter how much Sideswipe had tried, all he ever got initiated from Sunstreaker that remotely approached a melody was a game of Ping Pattern. 

Even in the Crystal Gardens when he gave him his orange Just-Because crystal, even in _Vos_ , Sunny still never led Sideswipe’s spark into a melody. 

Sideswipe was pretty certain at this point that Shockwave had stolen Sunny’s songs that should belong to Sideswipe - like how he had stolen his smiles and attention from him when they were younglings.

But he never asked Sunny about it because part of Sideswipe was afraid that Sunstreaker might tell him that he had given up his songs to Shockwave willingly. 

And that his weirdo had actually liked singing for that one optic creep.

One of these cycles though, Sideswipe was going to fragging light that purple monster on fire and point and laugh as Shockwave screamed, all while Sunny sang and danced in Sideswipe’s spark.

In the meantime, Sideswipe had enough songs for both of them, and he was more than eager to share them with such an attentive audience as his Sunny. 

As he circled, darted, and flicked his field around the Autobots and chatted to them along their comm frequency, he replayed Sunny singing with him in the sky. He kept the Autobot’s attention away from his tightly wound, nervous Sunny, and their focus on to his illogical self.

Becoming a Decepticon had been easy, they just had to recite some slag to Megatron about unquestioning loyalty and devoting their sparks to not surrendering and annihilating goals or something. Sideswipe hadn’t really been listening, and Sunny prompted him over their bond with what to say without even being in the room.

Then they got access to resources, and were just plopped off at a few battles where they went in different directions and stabbed at the mechs with red face thingies same as having opponents in the Pits. 

Megatron seemed to like taking Sunny into battle though, so Sunny had fought for the Decepticons more often than Sideswipe.

Sideswipe had only been in three, maybe five battles before they saw Shockwave at a rally and fled. Sideswipe hadn’t really been paying attention, he had been too busy telling stories, drinking high grade, laughing and pushing all the buttons he could find in his freedom. 

Sure, Sideswipe’s introduction to the Autobots had been a little rusty - it had been awhile, but these Autobots' sparks were soft - and that couldn’t be healthy - but Sideswipe would take any advantage he could get.

And mechs that had soft sparks were an object of scorn and easy to manipulate. 

It was going to be so easy, to hide with his Sunny among them and leech off their resources.

Operation Giggles was going to be hard to continue over their bond as they tried not to interact too much after they got their red face thingies. 

But it was too risky to interact directly all the time. Too many optics. They’d fight together because Sideswipe refused to allow Sunny to fall too far away from him. But they’d have to spend time alone among the Autobots while Sideswipe worked the room and poked for Autobot weak points he could exploit to keep their focus off his Sunny's weird.

Hopefully Sunny could manage to make a friend in Bluestreak though. 

That would be a huge Operation Giggles success story. 

Sunny’s first friend.

Sideswipe didn’t count. He didn’t know what they were, why they formed a link between their sparks or why it felt so great to merge them together when sparks were private. 

But Sideswipe knew they were more than friends.

Sunny was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now that Sideswipe has set the stage for more of what happened between the lab and now, we get back to our regularly scheduled befuddled Autobots observing, making conclusions, interacting with Sideswipe and trying to interact with Sunstreaker next chapter.
> 
> Originally there was a Jazz POV in this chapter but the chapter got too long so I split them up.
> 
> Sure Sideswipe, it's going to be so easy to just slip in as a role as an Autobot and be ignored. These mechs with soft squishy sparks will be so easy to fool.


	13. Secrets and Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's Jazz's POV that was originally part of the last chapter. Prepare for Prowl backstory feels.

They had been driving for over seven joors with Bluestreak still trying to pry even the slightest verbal response over their comm-line from their yellow ex-gladiator recruit. 

At this point, Blue was telling Sunstreaker all about each and every one of his belongings in his quarters down to the finest detail, and Jazz wasn’t certain if Blue was still on task of trying to get under Sunstreaker’s guard to get him to say _anything_ \- or if Bluestreak had just zoned out with an attentive audience that didn’t interrupt him.

Not that Bluestreak took it personally when he was interrupted. He knew he had a tendency to ramble. And he didn’t do it as often as he had as a youngling but still, Bluestreak preferred not to have silence. 

Plus he was absolutely smitten with their new recruits. His field was positively radiating interest and trying to entice Sunstreaker to engage with him without being too forward and wrapping it around him.

There wasn’t even a hint of a whisper of Sunstreaker’s field that Bluestreak was annoying him. The only occasional words they would hear from Sunstreaker was when he would occasionally snap at Sideswipe over their comms for being an idiot but that was it.

The field next to Jazz however, was starting to radiate a low grade frustrated simmer at Sideswipe’s constant circling and skirting between their convoy. He’d already caused both Hound and Prowl to flinch to the side when he suddenly pulled in front of them. Jazz had been tracking him and always saw him coming, there wasn’t quite a pattern to his movements - which was driving Prowl crazy - yet Jazz swore there _might_ be a beat to it. 

It was odd though, he only circled wide around Bluestreak, never darted in front of him close enough to make him flinch. 

:There is no way he has that much energy.: 

:Donno Prowler, maybe mech’s on boosters. Sparkles seems to think it’s normal though.:

:You better not let him hear you call him that.:

:You wound me! Shot straight to the spark. You think I’d make a rookie mistake like that? Trust me. If I want to annoy and frag off Sparkles, it won’t be an accident. It will be to see where that mech’s tolerance limits are. But with a friend like that red oddball, mech’s tolerance for weird has got to be high.:

Jazz would start testing their limits though, once they got back to base and settled. Especially Sideswipe’s. 

:I think Ratchet might actually have to follow through with his threat to weld a patient to a medberth with Sideswipe. Are you certain he’s not glitching?:

Sideswipe was currently driving forward for once, but he was directly in front of Sunstreaker with barely a servo’s width to spare, wiggling his frame back and forth in a tight zig-zag pattern.

Jazz laughed.

:Maybe Sparkles just likes Sideswipe’s alt mode’s aft and -:

Abruptly Sunstreaker transformed at speed in a burst of motion and leapt over Sideswipe’s alt mode to land in the path in front of him, facing him as he slid backwards on the road as he lost his momentum. A focused intensity that looked like murder radiated in his optics.

“STOP FRAGGING SINGING!”

Sideswipe slid sideways to avoid running into Sunstreaker who stood his ground in the middle of the road. Transforming directly in front of the yellow ex-gladiator’s coiled frame, Sideswipe balanced on his one good pede, leaned straight into Sunstreaker’s enraged faceplate and smugly hummed a few notes at him.

Dodging the clenched fist that went swinging straight toward his helm, Sideswipe jumped around on his single pede with the other hanging limply, and _laughed_.

Everyone transformed with a start as Sunstreaker tackled Sideswipe to the ground. In a single movement he unsubspaced his blade from his upper right wrist joint, and stabbed it into the road directly next to Sideswipe’s helm.

Without missing a beat Sideswipe grinned up at Sunstreaker and tsked with mock scorn, “that’s no way to treat your blade Sunny, you’re going to dull it then it will be less stabby.”

“It’s an energon blade you idiot. It doesn’t fragging get dull unless my systems stop powering it.”

Shrugging Sideswipe grinned and looked down to his servo where he held a small rusted blade that was _almost_ against Sunstreaker’s plating seam by a main energon line on his upper leg. Jazz hadn’t even see when it appeared in his servo. 

“Oops, must have gotten it confused with this little guy.” He wiggled it.

Sunstreaker glanced down and recoiled, retracting his blade and sitting up straight he checked over his plating. 

“You better not have fragging gotten rust on me.” He mumbled. 

“Like it could stick to your shiny aft.”

Sunstreaker curled his lip plate up in a snarl at Sideswipe beneath him and his cooling fans whirred to life. What the frag, were they -

“You keep too much slag in your subspace.”

Beaming up at him, Sideswipe balanced the rusted blade by the pointed tip on a digit before he flipped it up and caught it back into a subspace pocked on his right arm.

“Didn’t think I kept I souvenir from that time we went spelunking in the caverns of the acid wastes did ya?”

Sunstreaker sounded like his intake was clogged for a moment before he abruptly stood up, stomped away from Sideswipe, transformed back into his vehicle mode revved his engine loudly, then idled in the middle of the road.

Leaving Sideswipe grinning madly after him as he tried and stand up with one pede that could bare his weight. Hound and Bluestreak rushed over to help him up. 

Spelunking? In the caverns of the acid wastes? These mechs had a death wish. Or, after the brutality of the Pits, perhaps they explored caves that could flood with acid without warning for thrills. Because that hadn't been a lie. 

Prowl looked at Jazz for a translation of what just happened. Prowl was a brilliant statistician, he studied patterns, ran the numbers at a capacity no one else could physically manage with his experimental battle computer modification in his processor. But interpersonal reactions? Reading between the lines of what mech’s left unsaid? That was Jazz’s domain. 

And Jazz was at a loss.

:Don’t look at me like that Prowler, I can’t tell if Sparkles there actually just tried to kill Sideswipe or if they were about to frag in the middle of the road. Mech’s are all over the place, Sideswipe genuinely thought every moment of that was hilarious. Sparkles was fragged then he wasn’t - I think - mech's clamped up tighter than you ever were. I still don’t know if they even like each other.:

:Considering Sideswipe’s behaviour, I think Sunstreaker has shown remarkable restraint until now. _I_ wanted to run Sideswipe off the road two joors ago.:

:We ain’t gonna test that boundary yet. If Sparkles likes that goof, I don’t wanna know what he might do try to do to defend him, or if you order him around. They ain’t under your command yet.:

They certainly seemed like they hated each other, but Jazz hadn’t forgotten the way Sunstreaker had defensively placed himself in front of Sideswipe when Jazz first stepped out from behind the rubble he was using for cover. 

Nor how Sideswipe had motioned Sunstreaker to not attack Jazz when Sunstreaker hadn’t given any visual indication that he was planning on moving. 

That spoke to a level of familiarity, and trust between them. Though it was possible it was due to circumstance. Easier to survive if there was a mech to watch your back - or use as an emergency fuel source if worse came to worse. They clearly had a system worked out between them, and Sunstreaker was the shield, the heavy hitter when Sideswipe’s darting around failed. 

:You said you trusted them.: 

:Naw, I said they wanted to be Autobots and they ain’t spies. That doesn’t mean I trust ‘em. Mechs obviously got private comms with jammers like us. Don’t know about you, but I didn’t hear any singing, and I was monitoring them for private comm chatter.:

:Unbelievable. Jazz when will you stop withholding information I need? You had Blue chat away at a potential ticking bomb for joors! We’re lucky Sunstreaker just attacked Sideswipe when his tolerance ran out.:

:Luck ain’t got anything to do with it. This is me, evaluating. I take risks, same as you. I just run my calculations a little differently. And Blue ain’t helpless.: 

:You could have taken longer to evaluate them.:

He looked over to see Sideswipe shooing Bluestreak away and leaning on Hound. That ankle joint looked painful, didn’t look like it had any mobility left to it at all. Yet it didn’t seem to bother Sideswipe, must have deactivated his pain receptors. 

:You wanna be the one to explain to _Ratchet_ why we let Sideswipe jump around with a broken ankle joint _and_ deal with Prime’s “I’m so disappointed in you, look?” Be my guest Prowler, but I’m bringing ‘em in. You know how Prime feels about second, pits, even third and fourth chances. That look, plus Ratchet? Too much mech, even for me. But if it’ll make your over protective creator hovering instincts calm down, I’ll take Bluestreak’s position and take a crack at Sparkles.:

Prowl scowled at him. It was slight, but Jazz knew it was there on his faceplate. The Autobot SIC had incredible emotional control but Jazz had no problem reading him now.

:You weren’t even suppose to come on this salvage mission. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you invited yourself and traded out with Cliffjumper and Ironhide. You were looking for something in that academy storage bay, and needed Hound to track it down. What was it?:

Jazz just smirked at him.

:You got your secrets Prowler. I got mine. My operations work better when you aren’t running our odds and trying to trip me up. Plus, good thing I was here.: He looked pointedly toward where Sideswipe parked himself directly in front of Sunstreaker who was revving his engine loudly at him.

:There is no possible way you knew we’d run into them.:

Jazz just chuckled over their comms at Prowl’s irritated tone as he strolled over toward Sunstreaker to take up the position Bluestreak had been in.

:Guess you’ll never know.: He taunted.

After all this time, it was still fun to infuriate Prowl sometimes, leave him guessing with nothing to run his calculations on. It was good for him to not be able to know every variable around him. Jazz was never letting him activate that battle computer in his processor as high as he first ran it when they first met ever again. 

Mech could get lost in his statistics and lose sight of the best parts of living.

As Jazz was about to transform into his vehicle mode, Sideswipe abruptly transformed, followed shortly by Sunstreaker, setting Jazz’s fuel pump racing and activating his battle protocols that were always partially online and ready for movement. Sideswipe rested his elbow joint on Sunstreaker’s shoulder for stability as Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chestplate. 

They both glared at him.

The glare was identical in its intensity. Like how close friends would begin to adopt each others mannerisms. It made sense he supposed, it was obvious the two of them had been surviving alone together for awhile. 

Still, something about the look both of them were giving him was eerie and it stopped him in his tracks.

“Can I help you mechs?” He asked.

“That’s Bluestreak’s spot.” Sideswipe stated firmly then looked over to Bluestreak whose sensor panels perked up high and fluttered in surprise. Prowl's twitched just enough that Jazz noticed. 

“C’mon Blue.” Sideswipe motioned. “Sunny wants to hear more about your quarters and all the thingies you keep in it. He likes stories about stuff.”

It was odd. 

Because that was the truth, yet Sunstreaker’s optics didn’t leave Jazz until he walked away, and he didn’t even look toward Bluestreak before he transformed back into his alt mode. 

For some reason Sunstreaker seemed to hate Jazz. Did he know him from somewhere?

Idly Jazz wondered if he’d tried to take out Sunstreaker in the dark before, certainly he'd remember that. 

When they set off again Sideswipe stopped darting around, and stayed behind Bluestreak keeping him even with Sunstreaker. 

Any time Bluestreak diverted off course to avoid an obstacle in the road, that Sunstreaker only transformed and vaulted over before continuing on his way as if it didn’t exist, Sideswipe would crowd Bluestreak until he was even with Sunstreaker again.

:Jazz, Bluestreak was not so subtly hinting how useful a sniper was with these recruit’s aerial combat skills, if they are teasing him, only to bully him…: Prowl with a hard edge to his voice. 

:They ain’t.:

Jazz was met by a pointed silence.

:I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this.:

:Then what is Sideswipe doing?:

:I’m not certain but I think he’s playing with -:

:You said -:

:I said he ain’t bullying. He’s _playing_. Like a youngling. I don’t know what else to say Prowler, his field’s playful and determined. He’s focusing hard on chasing Blue. Blue would tell him to stop if he was bothering him. They're having fun.: 

Jazz kept his other observations to himself. Sideswipe was _herding_ Bluestreak next to Sunstreaker. It wasn’t malicious, but he didn’t seem to like it when Bluestreak drifted too far away. Sunstreaker appeared to not care where Bluestreak was, as long as Jazz wasn’t nearby. 

They were gladiators in the past. That was true. Too much time had past since Kaon and the Pits had been taken over by the Decepticons, it was impossible that Sideswipe was still a youngling in an adult frame - as horrific as that would have been to discover. 

It didn’t make any sense.

Bluestreak continued to fill their comms with chatter until they stopped for a rest and recharge. Plopping himself down next to Sunstreaker, Bluestreak didn’t flinch as the gladiator’s plating clamped tight and his backplate went stiff. As Bluestreak continued to chatter, Sunstreaker reached into his subspace and sat there, staring at his plating as he polished it needlessly. 

Any scratches he had left needed to be filled and refinished, mech couldn’t get any more polished than he was with out detailing supplies.

The yellow ex-gladiator never said a word, but he never told Bluestreak to shut up either. So Sunstreaker enjoying Bluestreak’s stories about nothing and everything appeared to be the truth.

And Sideswipe was laying on his stomach across from them, kicking his good leg up behind him in the air, practically beaming, and interjecting into Bluestreaks ramblings to ask questions about Iacon. But they weren't questions that a spy would want to know. 

Questions like: what colour was it? what's your favorite place? what do you store under your berth?

Currently Sideswipe was needling him for more information about energon goodies. He said he wanted to know if they were different than the ones he'd tasted in Vos in his youth. When Bluestreak described gelled ones with metal fragments in them, Sideswipe perked up and exclaimed: "They sparkle? Those are your favourite? Sunny likes sparkles too!" 

And he caught Jazz looking at him intently at that. Sideswipe smiled and wave while darting his field over to mingle joyfully at the edges of Jazz’s before looking over at Prowl reading his datapad, then back to Bluestreak.

There was no way he could known Jazz had been calling Sunstreaker Sparkles to Prowl. Sideswipe couldn't have hacked his commline without leaving a trace. Jazz would _know_! But why else had he smiled cheekily and waved at him after that statement?

As they settled down for recharge, Sunstreaker stomped directly through the center of their camp, causing Hound to roll abruptly out of his way so he didn’t get stepped on by the impassive mech, and the yellow ex-gladiator settled down at the furthest point he could be from everyone without restricting his view of the area.

Sideswipe sprawled out where he was, and fell into recharge laying on his front.

Jazz commed Prowl, Bluestreak and Hound privately to not set up a watch so he could see what these two ex-gladiators would do.

Predictably, their two Autobot applicants snuck off after they thought everyone was in recharge. Jazz of course, had been waiting to follow.

And he was already disturbed he almost didn’t hear them leave. 

He onlined his visor without illumination at a shuffle of plating that could have been Sideswipe moving in recharge and was startled to see Sunstreaker helping to boost Sideswipe with his disjointed ankle up on to carry him on his backplate.

That got Jazz’s attention. 

Sunstreaker sounded like a mech twice his size when he walked up until this point, when had he moved across their camp? 

He was _certain_ they weren’t Decepticon spies, his instincts were practically screaming that they weren’t, but now Jazz was questioning his original conclusion as Sunstreaker silently crept off away from camp with Sideswipe on his back.

The two of them were already talking in hushed whispers when Jazz crept up on their location and hung down from above them off to the side.

“Sunny fix it faster, we have to get back. What if they online and leave without us?”

“I’m not letting you keep bouncing and flopping your pede around like an idiot.”

Well Sunstreaker certainly hadn’t been lying about needing parts. He already had Sideswipe's pede removed and was digging around in his subspace, until he retrieved a fragment of a replacement joint. 

Unless that injury had been planned. Seemed off, a mech walking around with that specific fragment in his subspace.

"Don't worry Sunny, I already told you, everything’s going well. Blue’s nice don’t you think?” Sideswipe tensed his frame tight under the repairs. Jazz could hardly blame him. Even the most hardened warriors could have a hard time watching themselves be repaired. 

Ironhide always asked to be placed in medical stasis no matter how minor the repair - said it churned his fuel tanks to watch repairs - yet in battle he could calmly hold together broken lines of a comrade, or himself, until a medic could be reached.

"I fragged it up. I told you I shouldn’t have said anything, but fragging Jazz kept staring at me.” Sunstreaker’s plating was clamped tight as he focused on dismantling Sideswipe’s broken joint and harvesting parts he could use to attached the fragment.

"Well it would have helped if you told me you were going to toss a severed helm at them, I would have said that was a bad idea. We talked about this remember? Mechs outside the Pits won’t find that skill impressive.” And unbelievably the yellow ex-Gladiator who had been out right ignoring Bluestreak’s friendly attempt to engage him in conversation, shrunk in on himself at his companion’s words and focused intently on his repairs.

"Don't you -" Sideswipe sat up straighter “Hey you. Look at me." He said softly.

Sunstreaker did but his plating was still clamped tight. 

"It'll be fine. I know you're scared but they seem like good mechs yea? Maybe can't catch a good joke, and a little rigid, but I can work with that. Blue’s fun, he already likes us. And likes sparkles like you. We’ll start fresh. New life.” And the red ex-Gladiator tossed a soft smile to Sunstreaker, but he only hunched in on himself further.

"Again." The response was dejected and he looked at the wires he was connecting.

“Yes. Again. _Together._ ” Sideswipe stated with conviction as he leaned forward where Sunstreaker was hunched over his pedes. 

He reached out and placed his servo gently on the side of Sunstreaker's faceplate, tilting it so their optics met. The yellow ex-Gladiator, that had been all clamped plating, snarls, growls and grumbles to the Autobots _and_ Sideswipe, practically melted into the touch.

“Because we'll be together and that's what matters right? We need the Autobots and we’re both as good as dead if we go back to the Decepticons, you _know_ that.”

Now that was interesting, what _had_ caused them to defect? Because Sideswipe’s tone held honest fear and his field spiked briefly in terror. 

They were spooked. And running. Except with resources so scarce, there were no more places to run and they were wedged into a corner. Mechs like these, they’d lash out when cornered.

There was silence between them for a few moments.

Then Sideswipe spoke again with a hiss, confirming Jazz’s suspicion of internal comm signals with jammers installed.

“Then they can all go suck on a rusted spike and melt into slag. We’re still together Sunny. We’ll survive. That’s what matters. I only need my weirdo.”

The look that passed between them then was incredibly intimate and it caused Jazz’s spark to clench with longing.

Finishing the rest of the repairs in silence, or over their private comms, Jazz compiled his what he knew about these strange ex-Gladiators, because they were certainly strange.

Seemed odd that a mech that could casually toss the severed helm of an opponent, and tackle his companion to the ground stabbing his blade right next to his helm in a twitch of an optic, was _afraid_ of the the Autobots. 

Of _Jazz_ specifically for some reason. 

Lots of Decepticons feared Jazz, but neither of them gave any indication of recognizing his designation when he gave it to them.

It was actually kind of a relief to have it confirmed that the yellow ex-Gladiator had tossed the helm at him to show off, but still, it was an unnerving skill. He supposed, like Sideswipe said, that kind of behaviour in the Pits would make the audience cheer. And he apparently did honestly like sparkles, that comment had been a coincidence. These mechs were starting to drive Jazz insane. He was jumping at shadows.

Making a note to send to Rung for their psych evals, Jazz considered that it was possible Sunstreaker had never known a life outside the Pits before the war. That made sense based on his behaviour. Why he was stomping all over the place when he could obviously walk lightly though was completely baffling.

Sideswipe was a challenge, and normally Jazz loved a challenge. His actions were dramatic and over the top making him difficult to read as he spoke of a past that was both lies and truth, switching between the two seemlessly. And it bothered Jazz that he still couldn’t figure out if he was doing it on purpose or not. 

He played like a youngling yet had a rusted out blade in his servo so fast, Jazz hadn’t even seen it happen. And as he comforted Sunstreaker just now he displayed a level of serious maturity he hadn't shown the Autobots.

He flit his field all over the place as if nothing could hold his attention for long, but never quite mingled his field beyond lapping at the edges of others.

Sideswipe just felt _off_ and Jazz couldn’t explain it any better.

As Sunstreaker started to reattach Sideswipe’s plating, Jazz realized that Prowl wasn’t going to get the aerial combat frontliners he wanted. Blue was going to be disappointed not to get partnered with them.

Jazz was no medic, but he knew enough to survive and repair himself or his comrades to get out of a tight spot until he could reach a medic. Sunstreaker clearly had more than passable medical field knowledge. Jazz certainly couldn’t repair an entire joint with modifications, and definitely not that fast.

Ratchet would want Sunstreaker training with his medics, and when Ratchet wanted a mech as a medic - the mech became a medic. 

They were close to each other, deeper than just any need for survival. There was no longer any doubt in Jazz’s cortex. For a moment, when they looked at each other, it was like they were each other’s entire world.

When and why they defected from the Decepticons was unclear but Jazz was starting to come up with a theory.

That they had no intentions of returning was clear, and that was enough to finish bringing them the rest of the way to the base to meet Optimus despite his outstanding question about them. Hopefully Jazz could befriend Sideswipe into spilling why they were marked for death - it hadn’t sound like it was simply because they defected. 

Sunstreaker apparently liked or at least tolerated Bluestreak, and even if Jazz didn’t assign him, it seemed like Bluestreak was determined to have his attention anyway.

Any doubt remaining that they were afraid to return to the Decepticons simply because they defected was erased when the repairs finished and Sunstreaker crawled over Sideswipe’s frame. 

Staring into each other’s optics, touching each other’s faceplates, their chestplates started to retract, and it became obvious they were initiating a spark merge. 

Jazz decided he'd learned enough. 

Despite how hot he thought it would be to watch those two mechs retract their panels and get it on, he headed back to camp and resolutely tried to stop his processor from guessing which one would be riding spike tonight. 

He knew they had been hiding _something_ and their interactions had seemed off, but he never would have guessed _this_. 

Prowl, Hound and Bluestreak were all online and waiting for him when he returned.

“Mech’s are still packed full of secrets and lies, but they want nothing to do with the Decepticons. Who could have guessed when we went on this supply mission for Percy that we’d be returning with two aerial combat skilled ex-Gladiators from Kaon that are fleeing from the Decepticons because they are conjunx endura.” Jazz delivered his conclusion a flash to his visor that simulated a shuttered optic toward Prowl. 

He smiled at him when Prowl glared in response trying to figure out if there was possibly a way that Jazz _did know_ and that's why he came. 

“You’re joking, they can barely stand each other!”

“Naw Hound, that ain’t a thing to joke about, and you can’t tell me that how they bicker doesn’t remind you of Ironhide and Chromia on a bad day. There’ve been rumors of bonded pairs disappearing from within the Decepticon ranks, never been able to confirm them. Now I have.”

“They’re hiding that they are conjunx endura from us? Why?” Bluestreak asked.

“They’re spooked, big time.”

“I have never seen Chromia almost stab Ironhide in the helm because he annoyed her.” Prowl objected.

Jazz shrugged.

“So their idea of foreplay is a little rough, you can’t tell me you didn’t see that look in their optics when Sunstreaker was straddling Sideswipe in the middle of the road. For a klick I couldn’t figure out if they were going to kill each other or start fragging. Turns out it was the latter.” Jazz gestured with his helm in the direction he knew they were, and then deleted the code wondering if Sideswipe was as unpredictable in random in the berth as he drove, or if Sunstreaker was loud or silent.

“I still don’t get it, why hide it from us?”

“They’re running scared Blue, terrified. I’m betting even a hint of a whisper that we know they’re bonded, and they’ll ghost. They don’t trust us. Don’t think they trust anyone. They’ve been alone a long time Blue, you have to remember that when dealing with them.”

Bluestreak’s sensor panels drooped as he looked off into the direction Jazz had indicated, as if he could find the mechs he hoped to make his friends and comfort them. And Jazz had been being curious and deleting code about the details of those mech's sex life.

Jazz caught Prowl’s optics.

“Whatever is causing bonded pairs to go missing in the Decepticon ranks, it’s been happening periodically since close to the beginning of the war. It ain’t affecting the trines and Megatron’s looking the other way.”

The sharp flare from Prowl’s field before he could suppress it made Jazz wince even though he knew it was coming. Hard optics bore in the direction Jazz indicated of the recruits, and Jazz knew he understood. 

Their recruits were running from Shockwave. 

Who else would Megatron allow to take soldiers from his ranks for? Who else would be monstrous enough to experiment on sparks, bonded or otherwise, and consider it scientific progress? 

Shockwave produced monsters. Spark abominations of the tortured that Megatron could set loose.

The butcher considered himself a scientist, could take a single spark and divide it into hundreds of mindless, feral, animated frames of the dead - or so Prowl claimed. Jazz hadn’t been there when Prowl encountered a lab packed full of those skittering, frothing horrors while following a lead on a location of one of Shockwave’s labs. 

He’d lost more than half of the unit he brought with him, said the EM fields those creations generated caused a mech to convulse and purge once they got trapped in them. 

Claimed they tore the mechs in his unit apart with rusted denta and servos, while they were helpless to move at the feel of those putrid, screaming fields of terror. 

Prowl maintained there was no hiding from them, once they sensed an EM field, they chased that mech relentlessly. He wasn’t even sure if they fueled.

He’d leveled ten city blocks of Vos ordering strikes to take them out once they breached the containment of the lab in the city’s outskirts. 

Up until that point, Vos had been neutral, like Praxus, in the murmurs of Megatron’s rebellion. Prowl’s cold, calculated attempt to save the city from Shockwave’s spark-split abominations was the fuse that lit up the war. 

What Prowl had been looking for in that lab - and all the others - in the first place was what Jazz had never been able to figure out. He had a vendetta against Shockwave long before Jazz met him. 

Had been running his battle computer to the max for vorns trying to find the scientist and tear his labs apart. 

Shockwave had set him up, knew what Prowl would do to stop his creations from running lose. And Prowl fell for it.

Prowl’s calculated logic, statistics, and decisive action of sacrificing part of the seeker city of Vos to save the majority without sounding an evacuation, won Megatron the loyalty the seeker’s Air Commander Starscream, and with him, the rest of the city of Vos followed. A chain reaction of events that only Shockwave’s brutally cold logic could have engineered and predicted, causing the seeker’s retaliation and utter destruction of Praxus.

Shrugging Bluestreak’s supportive servo off, that had descended upon him when his field flared, Prowl stalked away, sensor panels flared high and quivering. Bluestreak took a few steps to go after him and Jazz reached out to stop him.

“Let him go Blue, you know he doesn’t like to be seen losing control.”

Hound had already looked respectfully away.

Bluestreak sighed dejectedly as his sensor panels drooped and fluttered before they stilled. 

“I know it hurts Blue. C’mere.”

And suddenly Jazz had and armful of Bluestreak who clung tight, both physically and with his mingled field. He lay down and held him, stroking the area between his sensor panels softly until Bluestreak fell into recharge.

Prowl returned to their camp before their new recruits and he settled in beside where Jazz was holding a recharging Bluestreak. Shuffling back to let him take Bluestreak into his own arms, Prowl tucked his little Blue’s helm under his chinplate and met Jazz’s gaze. 

And Jazz tensed as he checked Prowl for signs he was running his battle computer at one hundred percent again. 

:I’ve prepared a data burst to sent to Prime with my full endorsement of our new recruits, add whatever you wish but they are being integrated into the Autobots - I don’t care what their psychological evaluations state. I’ll find a place for them under my command.: 

Jazz relaxed.

:You’re a soft spark Prowler. I’ll encrypt it and send it off, have Optimus meet us at our arrival to help calm their fears until they get to know us enough to open up about their bond without spooking off. Make sure Red isn’t there for their first meeting. Ask Ironhide to be there, he might be a fan of their matches.:

And he might give a clue why Sunstreaker’s name was darting around the edge of Jazz’s awareness now that he was wondering why he seemed to be _afraid_ of him specifically - what he originally though was hatred, wasn't. That was apparently fear. Honestly Sunstreaker appeared angry or indifferent all the time, and he kept his field clamped tight. 

:Have Ratchet be there as well, Sideswipe requires repairs, their first stop should be the Medbay.:

:Uh, about that. Before the two of them started merging sparks and fragging…I saw Sparkles modify and replace that goof’s ankle joint.:

Prowl glared at him, he knew exactly what that meant.

:Sorry Prowler, Sparkles is going to be under Ratchet’s domain, you know even you won’t be able to control his placement. He’s got the aptitude for repairs, and Optimus always sides with Ratchet when he wants a medic.:

Prowl cycled a ventilation in a quiet exasperated sigh.

:Bluestreak will be disappointed. He was excited to attempt further aerial combat maneuvers with them and was planning on trying to convince them that they needed him to keep the third seeker occupied. He is quite enamored with them.: He stroked the area between Bluestreaks sensor panels softly.

:They saved his life Prowler. And they tore seekers from the sky. Of course he is.: Jazz didn’t point out that Bluestreak wasn’t the only one who was now taken in by their strange new recruits. 

Jazz hoped their ex-gladiators appreciated the extent Prowl would go for them from the shadows to protect and defend them now that he knew they were running from Shockwave.

Vos hadn’t been the area Prowl had raised at the hint of finding one of that butcher’s labs spread out across Cybertron. The others had just been in uninhabited areas. 

And Jazz still didn’t know why. That secret, Prowl held tight no matter which angle Jazz tried to come at him by.

Their new recruits returned after Prowl was in recharge, a few joors before it was time to cycle back online, and it was Hound that alerted Jazz to their presence.

Visor online but running dark, Jazz observed as he feigned recharge. Sunstreaker was carrying a recharging Sideswipe silently around their camp, and deposited him precisely where Sideswipe had been laying before. The way he cradled Sideswipe’s helm, as he placed him reverently on the ground - Jazz scolded himself for not noticing the signs of their bond before. 

Mechs really were spooked if they were going through all this effort to pretend they weren’t bonded. Because Sunstreaker looked at Sideswipe now as if he was an irreplaceable treasure, the most precious mech to have ever walked Cybertron, revered and holier than Primus.

Sunstreaker stood to return to his original location when he caught sight of Bluestreak curled up against Prowl in his arms and he froze. He stared, optics roving over their entwined forms, then a vicious silent snarl formed on his faceplate as he clenched his servos hard into fists. 

He glanced back longingly at Sideswipe then slunk silently away to his position directly opposite Sideswipe, but as far away from the group as he could without placing a visual obstruction between them - No. _Between him and Sideswipe._

Sunstreaker was setting himself up for a guard shift - to watch the Autobots. 

Jazz stayed online as Sunstreaker continued to glare at Prowl and Bluestreak the rest of their recharge period. Precisely a quarter of a joor before the stated time in which they were to online to continue on the last stretch to headquarters, Sunstreaker stood up and stretched. 

He popped cables and lines as he rotated his joints, then he started a strange sequence of combat maneuvers as he leapt, twisted and rolled softly through the rubble around them with an intense focus.

Jazz swore it looked like he was dancing. But that - that couldn’t be right. 

Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never operate your battle computer at 100% in order to fight Shockwave or you start making calls like him. And he's better at it than you. 
> 
> You still so certain you've got this Sideswipe?
> 
> Next update will be longer in coming. I have to forward predict my plot holes and comb through chapters, to find old original plot lines I scrapped so things line up properly.


	14. Discord of Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wraps you up and braces you for some twin feels.*

Sunstreaker pulled his spark away from the teasing hint of the bliss of whole and the partial surface merge of their sparks, only to be pulled back with a wordless whine and a whimper from Sideswipe along their bond. 

Resting his forehelm on Sideswipe’s, venting heavily, and staring into his optics Sunstreaker gently ghosted a digit down the side of Sideswipe lower jaw. 

"Sideswipe we _can't_.”

"Just a little longer? A little deeper?" Sideswipe's spark reached up to entice Sunstreaker's deeper. And Sunstreaker wanted to, oh how he desperately wanted to. His traitorous spark ached and extended tendrils of energy, reaching to be merged as one with Sideswipe's special spark. 

He hated to have to deny Sideswipe anything.

Especially this. 

But Sideswipe's safety was paramount. Sunstreaker must never lose sight of his new purpose he assigned himself. 

"We can't. The temptation of merging too deep and getting locked in sync is too great. We just came out of a spark sync a few cycles ago."

And Sideswipe had been flying so high from the memories and echoes of the bliss of their bond sync during Jet Judo that Sunstreaker had been forced to snap him out of trying to entice him into another by tackling him to the ground. Any time he would try to constrict their bond further Sideswipe would start pinging him to pay attention to him. Driving clenched tight, surrounded by the enemy, with Sideswipe’s enticing singing for seven joors, fifty seven breems, and twenty-three klicks had been an exercise in Sunstreaker’s emotional control.

"Please Sunny." Sideswipe begged as he arched his chestplate up higher and wiggled his frame enticingly beneath him. His side of the bond blown wide open as more tendrils of his spark latched onto Sunstreaker's pulling him closer. 

Sunstreaker's cooling fans clicked and whirred under the strain, it hurt to resist. He wanted to give in to Sideswipe’s begging.

_Begging is illogical._

Repeating those thought files of his Creator did little to help keep him focused with Sideswipe so determined beneath him. 

Sideswipe was illogical.

And Sunstreaker’s entire world was Sideswipe and his illogical desires. 

"The merge is so shallow, can barely feel you following my rhythm. Just try a few of your own? For me?”

Recoiling as if struck, Sunstreaker tore his spark from Sideswipes and rapidly initiated the transformation sequence to slam his spark casing and chestplate shut. Sideswipe yelped at the sudden loss of the hint of feeling whole, and guilt flared through Sunstreaker as he twisted himself off Sideswipe’s frame. Kneeling on the ground next to him he offlined his optics to avoid seeing that beautiful special spark, and constricted his side of the bond down while diverting his guilt to protect Sideswipe from it. 

The hurt, confusion, and anger from Sunstreaker's rejection burned with a sudden intensity along their bond and Sunstreaker didn't reach back to try to sooth Sideswipe’s turmoil. The emotions would be manufactured emotions, and Sideswipe got angry when Sunstreaker mimicked emotions to him.

Sunstreaker did not regret denying Sideswipe a melody. This was for Sideswipe's protection.

And Sunstreaker deserved those feelings emanating from Sideswipe for what he had done. 

Sideswipe didn't understand or know how dangerous Sunstreaker could be to him - what Sunstreaker _was_. At least, Sunstreaker desperately hoped Sideswipe never remembered Experiment 253’s words.

 _Thief_. _Abomination_.

_Abomination was another word for monster._

Sunstreaker's melodies of his desires couldn't be trusted. He had destroyed everything in their lives with his proposed final procedure. Arrogant and greedy, he just couldn’t be content with the solution Creator had been about to deem Acceptable. No. Sunstreaker had wanted to make the results _permanent_ for his own selfish dreams. 

He refused to ever lead or entice Sideswipe into a sync again. 

Last time, his desires had almost killed him.

And if Sunstreaker sang to him, Sideswipe would be forced to join. 

Their bond was established in controlled intervals, and Sunstreaker's control of their bond was stronger. Creator had designed it that way. 

A nexus point between two bonds, Sunstreaker’s spark was now in constant disjointed agony. One bond sang and leapt with Sideswipe's special spark, and the other lead to the hauntingly familiar logical void to nowhere. The bond that had partially formed to his Creator during that last traitorous procedure ached, dripped, and seeped with no outlet. He had damaged and torn that precious connection to his Creator, the one he had worked for so long to earn, and the loss of it festered within him. 

Enticed him.

Taunted him. 

A constant reminder of his failure and what could have been.

Sunstreaker’s desires were dangerous to Sideswipe, he couldn’t be trusted to lead his special spark into sync. 

Never again.

Sideswipe was too special. 

Sunstreaker could _feel_ how special Sideswipe was, down to his special spark. It was smaller than most by half, but so bright, and bursting with excited, curious energy. Thoughts of Sideswipe sent Sunstreaker’s spark racing, he was so illogically precious. 

Without Sideswipe, Sunstreaker would have immediately returned to Creator to correct his error. 

Without Sideswipe, he never would have left at all.

When realization had dawned on Sunstreaker at the depths of his betrayal to Creator after escaping the first spark sync to this world of chaos, he had panicked. His purpose, his Creator, everything he had ever desired or worked so hard to earn was in shredded torn ruins. 

Locked in his glitch, refusing to compound his error by crying, he felt Bitlet wrap his arms around him, and tuck his helm under his chin. 

Pulling out two illogical knots of wires, Bitlet introduced them to him and told him a story about a world with two split-spark twin mechs named Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was a famous artist and he loved to draw pictures. He and his brother Sideswipe had an art studio together in Vos, and they travelled all across Cybertron together for inspiration. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were heroes. They rescue distressed mechs from the caverns of the acid wastes, fought evil monsters, and rode rust-slugs into battle. Above all else, they loved and protected each other. 

Best of all though, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were happy.

Bitlet had said that was because all heroes always got happy endings.

At the time he hadn’t understood at all what Bitlet was doing by moving knots of wires around, and he didn’t understand half of what he was saying. But the feelings pulsing over their bond lessened the ache of the tattered ruin of his purpose, and the promise of love and support, plus warmth of Bitlet’s frame against his own, reached through his panic. 

Quietly, uncertain if he was permitted to speak, he whispered to Bitlet that he liked to draw too. Then he asked what a rust-slug was even though Creator had told him it was irrelevant, and preferred Experiment 7241 had only laughed at his question. 

But Bitlet, precious special Bitlet, had smiled at him, touching gently down the side of his faceplate and promised that he’d show him someday. In the meantime though, he had been working on a song about rust-slugs and asked if Creation wanted to hear it.

While Bitlet sang an illogical song along their bond with the strangest patterns Creation would never consider, Bitlet gave them the names of his heroes so he could guarantee they could have a happy ending together.

With Sideswipe’s illogical song that pulsed mischief, love, support and edged in sorrow for his Carrier, paired with gentle touches of what he said was a rust-slug creeping along his plating, Sunstreaker didn't bother to stifle his laugh and broke himself out of his feedback loop by assigning himself a new purpose. 

Sideswipe and his special, heroic spark.

His protection and survival was non-negotiable.

Otherwise he’d have to return to Creator to be assigned a new purpose, or more likely, accept he was a conclusive failure and face the possibility that Creator found him replaceable.

The reality of keeping to his new purpose to Sideswipe proved more challenging since Sideswipe got angry when he tried to stuff him in a corner for safe keeping. This chaotic world seemed to always be against them. And Sideswipe would never fragging stay put.

What Sideswipe had asked him to do by singing him into sync just now, put his special spark in danger. 

Old fears rose as Sunstreaker worried he could never make himself irreplaceable to Sideswipe, that he had erred so great it could never be corrected. That he could never live up to his name Sideswipe had gifted him. 

He would be cast aside, replaced, expendable - like a drone. 

Falling back into old patterns he had never lost while stressed, Sunstreaker reached for logic. Maintaining he wasn’t an experiment, he didn’t live with them and he wasn’t a subject. Sunstreaker was an _other_ , not like other mechs. Had confirmed that his spark looked different than all other types, both by checking subjects within the lab and again with opponents in the ring. 

But Sideswipe had said Sunstreaker’s spark was the most beautiful spark that could ever be - Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to correct him and tell him otherwise.

_A drone that’s glitching, I can’t be a drone that’s glitching. Sideswipe loves me and he’s a special hero. He wouldn’t love a drone._

_Thief_. _Abomination_.

_Abomination was another word for monster._

_Heroes fight monsters_

//Unaccepta -//.

“Sunny stop! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. Don’t go cold.”

_Apologies are irrelevant. Don’t apologize, correct your error._

And Sunstreaker was still correcting his error for spark merging with Sideswipe when he _knew_ it didn’t feel right in that final procedure with Creator back home.

Enticing Sideswipe with songs and promises of Sunstreaker’s own desires, only led to sprays of energon, splayed circuits, and Sideswipe’s frantic, panicked screams. 

And the festering guilt of failure.

Servos clenched tight beneath him he focused on getting his glitch under control. He hadn’t come this close to being trapped in a loop since Sideswipe almost term - 

He felt Sideswipe brush his servo gently down his jawline and cup it, and as always, Sunstreaker melted into the touch as the thrill of Sideswipe’s servo against his plating never failed to send his spark racing. 

Pushing himself to kneeling, Sunstreaker onlined his optics and looked at Sideswipe.

“Will you be able to recharge at all tonight?” Sunstreaker asked, avoiding speaking along their bond and enticing Sideswipe with what he denied him.

Avoiding Sunstreaker’s optics, Sideswipe nibbled his lower lip plate. The clunk-hiss of the magnetic locking mechanism they had installed around Sideswipe’s spark casing to help him with his nightmares echoed against the ruins. 

Sideswipe recharged fitfully in short spurts before he would online with his spark racing and vents straining, as his imaginative processor would come up with any number of scenarios in which he was strapped to a table with his spark exposed. Being prodded and examined, reliving Experiment 253’s termination in any countless permutations, most of which illogical. 

He recharged best if Sunstreaker laid on top of him, an extra shield of defense to reach his special spark. 

Sunstreaker had lost count of the number of times Sideswipe has wedged himself under his frame during recharge. It was so normal now, Sunstreaker no longer woke when Sideswipe moved him in his own recharge. 

But with the Autobots, it would be too risky to sleep next to each other. The threat that they would actually strap Sideswipe to a table and examine his spark was too real if they discovered Sideswipe’s special spark was generated from an experiment. Sunstreaker refused undergo empurata like his Creator, they’d have to terminate him first.

He would not lose his special spark to mechs from the Senate too. 

_Creator wanted to care for you. You took that away from him_

_Thief._ _Abomination._

_No better than the Senate._

Focusing on Sideswipe and his purpose, Sunstreaker diverted his fears and worries toward the festering and dripping bond to nowhere, hiding them from Sideswipe. They both had a roll to play to keep him safe among the Autobots.

“You have to get _some_ recharge tonight. I’m not good at speaking to other mechs, I don’t understand the things they leave unsaid, I get overwhelmed. You know this. Plus you expended to much energy today being an idiot.” Pulsing their bond with love and encouragement, Sunstreaker reached into his subspace and withdrew their last cube.

Mostly curdled and gummed up at the edges, Sunstreaker had found an old dispenser in Iacon’s outskirts and managed to drain this and a few cubes energon from it.

Sideswipe wrinkled his nasal ridge at it.

“No thanks, my fuel’s level’s good.”

“That’s a lie, you have no idea what your fuel levels are - your fuel gage stopped working orns ago. Drink.” Sunstreaker shoved the cube in his idiot’s servo who sniffed it and gagged. 

Of course he had to fragging sniff it. His idiot special spark was always sniffing, poking or licking everything around him. 

Keeping him online when the caverns of the acid wastes suddenly flooded, surprising both of them, had been a challenge. They had to leap, climb and _scramble_ to higher levels. Sunstreaker didn’t fragging _scramble_ , and Sideswipe had lost a digit in the rushing tide when he leaned down to fragging touch it. They’d been trapped on a ledge with a deactivated and rusted mech for cycles before the tide retreated and they made a break for it, the soles of their pedes eaten away and ruined. 

Sunstreaker still had acid welts up the back of his leg plating from the adventure, but the joy of the discovery and a ping pattern of victory at their survival rang through his spark from Sideswipe, while he cursed at him. Then he sent the conclusion of their victory pattern and smiled at him. In hindsight, knowing they survived, it had been fun. 

“Can’t we just ask the Autobots for energon, surely they -“

“No.” Sunstreaker pulsed a hard warning pattern along their bond. “Do not drink anything they give you, not until we can pour it ourselves from where they fuel from. It could be a trick Sideswipe, they could drug us.”

“You’re really paranoid you know that?” Sideswipe wrinkled his nasal ridge and placed the curdled cube in front of his optic and turned toward Sunstreaker. “You think of the strangest ways to deactivate.”

“One of us has to.” Sunstreaker pushed his arm down before he enticed him to start laughing at him. Sideswipe liked to try to divert Sunstreaker from his worries with laughter. Most of the time, it worked. 

“How many times have I caught you between buildings when your fragging jet pack sputters.”

“Hey! It hasn’t been _that often_ and my jet pack is off limit to insults. Especially after today.”

“Whatever. Just fragging drink.”

Sideswipe brought the cube to his lips then stopped and pulled it down. 

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Sunstreaker snapped. He was so close to Sideswipe drinking that fragging cube. 

And he _was_ fine, currently at 23%, and had already diverted his fuel reserves from non-essential systems. But he’d start cannibalizing his own systems before he let Sideswipe go without fuel. 

Narrowed optics glared at him with an accompanying pulse along the bond so he knew that Sideswipe was suspicious, and not any of the other number of emotional reasons a mech might narrow their optics. 

Anger. Confusion. Frustrati-

He cut himself off from accessing his extensive catalogue of faceplate expressions and their possible combinations.

“I have my mods Sideswipe, you don’t.” He sighed “I’ve replaced more than half of yours. I can go longer without recharge than you, and I can tell which systems I’m diverting energy from, you can’t. We don’t know what your level’s are at. You could be at 3% for all we know.”

Sunstreaker had spent almost every spare credit he earned from his matches after he was done buying his fuel, hot oil baths and detailing supplies, on mods for his frame. Dedicating himself to making his frame more efficient, more mobile, more deadly - more able to protect Sideswipe. 

The side effect that some mods helped improve his mobility routine he performed every cycle, that still sent his spark racing and pulsing, well that was a bonus. He had snuck in _a few_ to his strut supports specifically to be able to make a further leap and take the impact of landing without injury. He felt guilty for the indulgence at the time, but they came in handy for Jet Judo today. 

He couldn’t cling as tightly to the seekers as Sideswipe had.

Sideswipe chucked the thick, and partially curdled energon down his intake, and his faceplate twisted as he pulsed revulsion over their bond.

//Gross. It’s chunky, and sour. Ugh it’s sliding down in - I just bit one! I - I can’t do it.//

“Don’t you dare.” Sunstreaker lunged forward to placed his servo over Sideswipe’s mouth but it was too late. Sideswipe spit out the last of their energon reserves. 

As he stared at the chunky mess dripping down into cracks in the ground, Sunstreaker had no solution. He had no way of knowing what Sideswipe’s levels were at, if he could even make the drive tomorrow, if he’d even be conscious when they entered the base, and Sunstreaker couldn’t do this on his own, he’d frag it up, they’d _know_ how weird he was, he didn’t know their rules yet, they’d hurt Sideswipe, he was a horrible liar, he’d -

“Sunny, _no_! Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Hey c’mon. Look at me.”

Sideswipe guided his faceplate away from where Sunstreaker was stuck staring at his failure seeping into the surface of Cybertron. He didn’t even realize when he had clenched his servos into fists or when they started shaking. 

“That’s it. Now cycle a ventilation with me. Good. Again. That’s it. Now, nudge open your side of bond just a bit, you’re holding yourself too tight from me and locking yourself up again.”

Sunstreaker nudged open his side of their bond as instructed and let Sideswipe’s confidence wash over him. 

“I told you I got this right? You felt it when we did that surface merge just now? I’m sorry I pushed Sunny, I know you’re coiled tight about this. Just focus on Bluestreak and follow my lead. Okay?”

Sideswipe kept telling him that Bluestreak’s field was nice, but Sunstreaker couldn’t even bring himself to look at the sniper. His sensor panels moved all around and they were impossible to categorize. He knew they were _meant_ to move around, he’d examined Praxian frames with Creator -

Except he’d only ever seen their sensor panels held low with slight movements. Extrapolating from his experience of the majority of other frame expressions he had categorized in his younglinghood, he could only conclude that motion meant pain, sadness, terror or -

_Abomination is another word for monster._

He redirected that memory file away. 

The scientific method was built on failed results so Sunstreaker would keep trying to socialize with Bluestreak, plus the grey Autobot _had_ saved Sideswipe. Maybe tomorrow he could say “hello” and Bluestreak could say a greeting back. Hopefully he didn’t start follow up questions Sunstreaker couldn’t predict. 

Maybe he could start up his observations again once they were firmly hidden among the Autobots. He hoped to conclude that he could learn to understand a mech other than Sideswipe or his Creator, so far, all his other attempts had been failures.

Cycling in another ventilation, Sunstreaker nodded in agreement. This was for Sideswipe’s safety.

“That’s my Sunny. Try to be not too grumbly tomorrow, and _if_ that’s a big if because it’s not going to happen, but _if_ I fall offline tomorrow, don’t start stabbing anyone okay?” Sideswipe stroked along the side of his faceplate with a thumb making him tremble along their bond. 

“Not even Jazz?” He pulsed shy amusement along their bond. 

Sideswipe chuckled at his joke, making Sunstreaker smirk as Sideswipe sent amusement back, and shook his head. 

“Not even Jazz. Just keep telling them I need medical attention, and that you watch over me. And that you don’t talk about your life without me if you get stuck. Use those words, that’s not a lie.”

“You’re an idiot.” He pulsed with tentative love and adoration as Sideswipe beamed at him. His idiot always came up with a solution Sunstreaker couldn’t see.

“Love you too Sunny.” Sunstreaker was always relieved to hear him say that.

Sideswipe nibbled his lower lip again as he looked over his shoulder. That expression, Sunstreaker knew on Sideswipe without a pulse along their bond. He was worried about his nightmares. 

“We should go back.” Sideswipe said, but he didn’t move.

Sunstreaker pulsed protection and encouragement along their bond.

“You won’t be able to recharge among them. Lay down here, see if you can fall into recharge. I’ll watch over you. No one’s going to touch your special spark. You know what I did to the last mech who did.”

Sideswipe looked back in the direction of the Autobots again before he looked back at Sunstreaker and searched their bond.

“From _any_ mech? You promise? ”

“Always.” Sunstreaker pulsed with conviction. There were only four Autobots after all. Praxian sensor panels were sensitive and they always screamed when - 

“What if they leave without us?” Sideswipe was still nibbling his lower lip, breaking Sunstreaker out of his lesson files he had integrated into his combat protocols. 

“They won’t. You said it yourself. They need mechs like us. We walk up, say an oath to their Prime, and we’re in. What ridiculous way did you put it?” 

“Easy peasy?”

“That’s the one.” Sunstreaker pulsed amusement over their bond to him.

Sideswipe smiled at him, the one that Sunstreaker loved best. Then he wedged himself as far as he could into the rubble while Sunstreaker placed his backplate to him where he could stare out and watch for threats. A scratched and dented red arm popped up around his waist and pulled him back further against Sideswipe’s chestplate. The clunk-hiss of the mechanism around Sideswipe’s spark chamber cycled off and on again as he ensured himself it was still locked.

Diverting his energon levels to his battle programming Sunstreaker left them idling online and scanned the landscape while Sideswipe attempted to fall into recharge behind him.

Sideswipe recharged better next to the frame of another, though he maintained that Sunstreaker was the best cuddler. In the Pits, Sideswipe spent most of his credits from his matches on hi-grade at parties, so when he wanted mods, he accepted patrons and their credits. It worked well, everyone always loved Sideswipe and his smiles, and he was very popular. 

Cuddle-friends, Sideswipe called them. That’s how he bought his jet pack and his inexhaustible supply of subspace pockets. Sunstreaker shuddered to think how much energy those consumed. He had so many Sunstreaker couldn’t keep track of what random “thingie” he stuffed in all of them. Most of his mods that allowed him to go longer with out recharge or improved his fuel efficiency, _boring mods_ Sideswipe had complained when Sunstreaker told him to get them, had been replaced at this point. But Sideswipe had insisted that Sunstreaker get _fun mods_ like his heat shielded plating like his hero, and Sideswipe loved that slagging jet pack - kept patching it up. 

Even though he knew it helped Sideswipe recharge better, Sunstreaker would still post himself within viewing distance of the door Sideswipe entered with his cuddle-friends, just in case. 

Sunstreaker hadn’t needed cuddle-friends or their credits. The Pit Bosses had assigned him to death matches after he inadvertently deactivated a few opponents during his point based matches. He earned more credits in his death matches than Sideswipe did in his point matches. And Sunstreaker wouldn’t allow Sideswipe to fight death matches when he whined to sign up. 

They had figured out a system for earning credits for energon, repairs, and mods in the Pits, and it had worked. Sideswipe recharged better in the arms of other mechs, and Sunstreaker didn’t like to be touched outside of the ring or repairs. 

Plus Sideswipe said the other gladiators and patrons that wanted to touch Sunstreaker had “skeevy fields” and instructed Sunstreaker to tell them frag off and go suck on a rusted spike. 

Cutting off limbs, or stabbing through arm plating functioned as an effective deterrent to touch, and he predicted sucking on a rusted spike would be revolting. It appeared to be an effective insult, though Sunstreaker didn’t know why any mech would suck on a spike to begin with, rusted or otherwise. He could only conclude that others shared his revulsion as they always left and rarely attempted to touch him again. 

He had followed a few, curious to see if they did indeed go suck on a rusted spike. They did not, and Sideswipe told him to stop lurking after them because he made the Pit Bosses nervous when he followed paying patrons from the shadows. 

Not that Sunstreaker could tell when he made other mechs nervous. 

But he enjoyed the Pit Bosses’ praise when he went to collect his credits, and later, Megatronus’ when he would speak to him after a battle. Those were the only social interactions he ever seemed to manage Accep - adequately. It was the times between where others socialized with no clear objective that he did not know what to do with himself. 

_Small talk._ Sideswipe had tried to explain it to him. But there were no _rules_ or order to it and Sunstreaker had gotten frustrated. 

The world they had escaped into was chaos. Everyone else seemed to understand unspoken rules of pointless communication that were indecipherable to him. Or said things they didn't mean. 

But he had Sideswipe. Sideswipe never laughed at Sunstreaker’s questions or mocked him when he didn’t understand a situation correctly. He would explain it over their bond or rephrase the sentence in a way he could understand. When Sunstreaker had pulsed a ping pattern of victory over his bond to Sideswipe early on in the Pits that he thought he had made friends, the gladiators who discovered Sunstreaker did not understand sarcasm, and were toying with him started to suffer a string of unfortunate illogical events. 

Always watching for threats, Sunstreaker would follow Sideswipe anywhere, no matter how many times he had vault up the sides or off of buildings to catch him when that fragging jet pack sputtered. What his idiot special spark wanted, Sunstreaker would do his best to make happen. 

Eventually. 

Sometimes he grumbled about how illogical it was first. 

Fine, a lot. 

But Sideswipe had a way of making him laugh, distracting him from his guilt, and dragging him along with his plots. 

Still. Sideswipe’s safety came before even Sideswipe’s own desires and definitely above Sunstreaker’s. 

As Sideswipe cycled in and out of recharge attempts behind him, Sunstreaker watched his chronometer at the edge of his HUD. When he was certain Sideswipe was deep in recharge, after his pedes had lashed out and kicked him a few times, he opened their bond wider and hummed a quiet rhythm with vows of protection and devotion to him. 

The beginnings of a nightmare calmed from Sunstreaker’s hint of a melody. 

The day Sideswipe gifted Sunstreaker his Just-Because crystal, a melody had started to cycled through the background of his spark almost constantly as they travelled across Cybertron together. 

He ached to share it. 

Desperately, he wished to ask if he was irreplaceable and if he had managed to live up to his name Sideswipe had gifted him yet. 

But Sunstreaker’s desires could not be trusted. He would however, work to correct his error to Sideswipe for the rest of his function by protecting and defending him for as long as Sideswipe would keep him. 

As long as Sideswipe never remembered his Experiment 253’s words, Sunstreaker allowed himself to believe Sideswipe would keep him and grant him this purpose. 

Gently and reverently, Sunstreaker reached in to retrieve Sideswipe’s recharging form and crept silently among the shadows and back into the Autobot’s camp while keeping Sideswipe's spark calm and lured into recharge. Placing Sideswipe on his front as a pitiful extra protection to sooth Sideswipe that his spark was safe from examination, Sunstreaker’s humming melody abruptly stopped when he saw Bluestreak wrapped tight in Prowl’s arms. 

Without conscious thought he began to close off the side of his bond to Sideswipe and reach out longingly along that damaged and festering bond toward his Creator that should go _somewhere_. 

Clenching his fists, he jerked himself away from his original failure, when he felt a whimper from Sideswipe along their bond and nudged it open again before he could close it completely. 

Silently stalking to the best vantage point in a simmering fury at himself, he cycled all those emotions toward the bond to his Creator that was tattered and went nowhere. 

Behind that cold soothing logic, Sunstreaker stuffed all his fears so Sideswipe could never find them and remember Experiment 253’s words. Sideswipe was illogical, and he hated the logical part of Sunstreaker’s spark, he would never touch it. There those emotions rotted deep behind that cold soothing logic he still reached to when stressed. 

He spent the rest of the recharge cycle staring at Prowl and Bluestreak as if they held the key to his error. They had all he had wanted. How did normal mechs get it so easily? Sideswipe was an experiment and he still got it. 

What was wrong with Sunstreaker that he couldn’t make connections with other mechs? Why did only Creator and Sideswipe seem capable of understanding him? Why couldn’t he have both his purpose to his Creator and keep Sideswipe safe? 

Was he a drone that was glitching, thought it was a real mech and had now attached itself to a special spark, while foolishly betraying his purpose? 

Was he replaceable? 

No other spark he had ever checked looked like his. Did that make him a monster? 

Or did that mean he was special too? 

Megatronus had said he was special before he touched his shoulder plating, sending Sunstreaker’s spark racing and charge shooting through his frame in a confusing way. So he dislocated his wrist joint, stabbed through arm plating and told him to frag off and suck on a rusted spike. 

He’d taken a blade through his shoulder rotator joint for his action. But Megatronus never attempted to touch him outside of battle again. Stabbing was a proven effective deterrent to unexpected and confusing touches. 

As his chronometer clicked down closer to the time they were to wake up and set off toward the Autobot base, he resolved to sooth himself through routine and check the mobility of his joints and function. 

One of his greatest joys had always been his daily routine with Creator to assess his function. And his spark spun and pulsed in what he now knew was joy every time he performed for his Creator’s assessment. Each new piece of equipment to his mobility routine delighted him. The first time Creator had applauded his sequence after the results of their experiment was still one of Sunstreaker’s favourite memories, however now tainted and bitter for what he had lost. 

At precisely a quarter of a joor before they were to leave, Sunstreaker stood. Stretching lines and cables to warm them up, he surveyed his environment. Leaping onto a flat rubble ledge that reminded him of his balance beam he crouched in a low stance. 

Chronometer reset to zero, he started the clock and launched forward. Pneumatic lines pressurized, fuel pumping, he balanced as he ran, and leapt with twists as he scaled high above them as he assessed the function of each and every one of his systems. 

No more time for regrets, he had a purpose to fulfill. 

Sunstreaker and his desires were dangerous. A thief that could not be trusted. He’d secretly attached himself to a special spark from a lab, and stolen it. 

By turning his back on his Creator and his original purpose for that special spark, he’d destroyed his entire world that he loved and understood. 

If he could destroy his entire world, there was no limit to how far he would go to protect Sideswipe and his special spark. 

Singing with abandon the song he desperately wanted to share with Sideswipe, he diverted it along the bond in his spark that festered and went nowhere. 

And as he pushed his systems to their limits, he vowed to protect Sideswipe with every skill at his disposal. 

Even from himself. 

_Abomination is another word for monster_. 

_Monsters try to kill heroes_. 

He would never risk luring his special spark into sync again except to battle the monsters of his recharge. Sunstreaker was content to follow in Sideswipe’s wake - correcting his error to him - for as long as Sideswipe would keep him. 

His special spark wanted a happy ending, so Sunstreaker was going get him that fragging happy ending. 

Because certainly if Sunstreaker was a monster that protected a special hero spark, that made Sunstreaker, with his strange smaller than average uneven spark that twisted in its rotation, only part monster. 

Maybe if he was only part monster, that meant he could be part hero too. 

He could content himself with feeling mostly whole with Sideswipe. 

A mostly happy ending while he watched Sideswipe enjoy his from the shadows was better than glitching in a corner as he cried uncontrollably with no Sideswipe, as he awaited Creator’s judgement. 

Therefore failure to get Sideswipe to his happy ending was defined as Unacceptable. 

…………………………… 

Sideswipe onlined to his spark racing at an echo of the past - had someone just called him Bitlet? All he heard where whispers and - a quiet hum in his spark! Fuel pump racing, spark aching, and scrambling to his servoes and knee joints to go join his Sunny, he stopped at the sight of the Autobots online and staring upward with whispers between them. 

Dropping his helm down he offlined his optics, clenching his servos into fists, he took two deep ventilations. Aching, his spark twisted and reached out, but he muffled it down before he could distract Sunny from his mobility routine. After their surface spark merge last night, and still so close to their last full merge, Sunny’s quiet humming to himself was so hard to resist. Even though they didn’t merge enough to sync yesterday - they shouldn’t have taken the risk of even a surface merge so exposed and close to others. 

But Sunny had been so scared and he had started going cold to avoid looping again. He needed the reassurance straight from Sideswipe’s spark that Sideswipe had this under control. Jazz with his visor always looking at them was really freaking him out, and he couldn’t focus long enough to try and categorize expressions because he kept waiting to be attacked. 

Sideswipe stifled a whimper before it could make it out of his vocalizer, his spark hurt so much trying to keep his side of their bond constricted. 

Primus how could Sunny stand it, how did he resist answering Sideswipe’s songs all the time? 

Sunny was just _humming quietly_ to himself and Sideswipe was in agony. But if Sideswipe tried to join Sunny'd stop abruptly. 

And nothing made Sunny distracted enough to hum to himself more than his mobility routine. 

He loved it. 

Talking about it had been the first excitement Sideswipe had felt from Sunny after they escaped their first spark sync in their first cycles of freedom from the lab. 

Sunstreaker had done a mobility routine every cycle since cycle one of freedom, every cycle of his entire life as long as he could remember. Sideswipe had looked at him in awe as he twisted, spun, rolled and jumped from each mark he had made on the ground around him. Excited in return, especially because it looked fun, Sideswipe asked what he was doing - 

And had gotten a long and dry response about the importance of proper function and maintenance as his weirdo pulsed his excitement and enjoyment of the routine over their bond. Sunny claimed he knew a bunch of routine sequences as he spun in a circle while pointing out a pede with the smile Sideswipe loved. 

The behaviour, like so many others, seemed suck in him no matter how much Sideswipe poked at it. 

Sideswipe had tried to get him to stop once he found out that fragging Shockwave would watch Sunny do it every cycle, and that Sunny had _liked it_. But Sunny got so stressed and miserable without it, closed in on himself when Sideswipe eventually yelled at him to literally stop jumping through hoops for that monster. 

So they compromised when they lived on the streets and later again when they were Neutrals, and worked together to develop new routines and movements for Sunny. Now he barely plotted out his movements before he started. They had come up with enough movements on their travels as they scaled buildings together that Sunny could cycle for variety and new equipment - or rubble - access. 

Sideswipe spent joors in different poses or repeating a movement as Sunny would walk around and stare at his frame to see if the new position would properly assess a joint or cable to his meticulously high standard he always held himself to. Once he found one he liked, he’d ask Sideswipe to repeat it once or twice then he’d mirror it perfectly. 

His Sunny was really smart when it came to imagining sequences and patterns. Sunstreaker corrected that he visualized them, broken them down into components, but Sideswipe liked his own description better. 

Finally able to online his optics again he stood and hazarded a glance exactly where he knew Sunny would be. He really shouldn’t have looked. Sunny was rolling and contorting his frame on the top of a building and Sideswipe’s optics locked on him, eager to join him. 

Cooling fans clicked and whirred to life under the heat and stress of fighting a sync. Despite the pain of keeping his side of the bond constricted smaller he couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face when Sunny did the spinny-spinny-back-twirly-grab that Sideswipe had invented. 

He really had come such a long way from having to pace out his entire routine in his cortex before he started. 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and their Epically Grand and Totally Amazing Adventures Across Cybertron had been good for Sunny. 

Having a purpose was really important to his Sunny, so Sideswipe was secretly giving him one. Giving both of them one. 

Like Operation Giggles, their adventures across Cybertron had a purpose; Sunstreaker and Sideswipe of Carrier’s stories were heroes. 

And so were they - they _had to_ be. Sideswipe refused to settle for anything less for themselves and he was on a mission. 

He was fixing their story so Sunstreaker wouldn’t become a villain and they would have a happy ending. They went on adventures, like real heroes. He had made sure of that. 

Sideswipe had been stuffing his extensive collection of subspace pockets he had invested in with any quest item he thought might be useful along the way. 

They already had a villain to fight like in Carrier’s stories - except those were normally comical, ridiculous and over the top with twirly plate mustaches. Sideswipe’s villain was very real and there was nothing funny about him. Sideswipe refused to let Sunny become a villain like that monster that created him. 

Carrier had called Sunny a thief, an abomination, and slag sucking evil Shockwave was his creator. Well Sideswipe didn’t give a slagging clutch-munching, diode spitting frag _what_ Sunny was - he belonged with Sideswipe now. 

And Sideswipe was a hero. All those mechs in their cells in the lab knew - they gave him their wires _because_ they knew he’d survive to the end. Heroes survived to the end. 

Sideswipe had a special spark. It made him good at fixing things for the mechs around him, making them laugh, helping them forget their pain, and keep secrets from them that might hurt them. 

His special spark made it so his Sunny could be a hero too. 

Seeing Sunny point a pede in the way that Sideswipe hated because it was from fragging Shockwave’s mobility routine, a fragment of a memory from Sunny during a merge that stuck with Sideswipe flashed through his processor. A flash of an instant of the seeker who was the original Mischief strapped to a lab table saying something, then getting deactivated with a single movement from a shiny silver plated servo. Finally that allowed Sideswipe to tear his optics away from Sunstreaker and the song he ached to sing to him. 

He hated that memory. But Shockwave’s Creation had killed Mischief, _not_ Sideswipe’s Sunny. 

Focusing on his mission, he took in the befuddled Autobots, looking for weaknesses. He zeroed in on Prowl’s door wingies held high. 

Bluestreak’s moved all around, and Sunstreaker suggested that perhaps Prowl was injured when Sideswipe asked if his should move too. But Sideswipe was beginning to think that Prowl’s were stuck, and he could help with that. Sideswipe was good a pushing buttons and flicking thingies relentlessly that tried to stay still and avoid his notice. 

Ignoring the glare Prowl gave him when he flicked his door wingies - Sunny glared worse because he could glare over their bond too - Prowl had nothing on a Sunny glare, he started damage control so they didn’t think Sunny was weird. 

This was going to work. Sideswipe was going to fix it so the Autobots never noticed his special spark or Sunny’s weird. 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were real heroes. 

They had to be. 

Because Sideswipe was a hero for those mechs in their cells, and he _couldn’t_ hate his Sunny for not trying to save Carrier. 

But Sunny wasn’t ready to fight their villain Shockwave yet. Still, Sideswipe was ready for when he was. 

There were two experimental Nucleon powered flame throwers with giant purple Decepticon face thingies on them in his subspace that he swiped from a ‘Con named Brainstorm’s room the cycle they left the Decepticons. Brainstorm was a fun mech, one of Sideswipe’s friends ‘cuz his room had all the best buttons, and he would make all the weird things Sideswipe would come up with reality. He still had some of those rattling around somewhere in subspace too. 

And he was just itching to start poking buttons on them and light fragging Shockwave on fire for what he did to Sunny, Carrier, and all his neighbours. 

Sideswipe had a lot of laughs. He already had the best one picked out. While Shockwave screamed, Sideswipe was going to point and use that laugh he reserved for Shockwave’s painfully slow termination. As Shockwave’s lines boiled and burst, Sideswipe would dart in and out tearing off his plating piece by slag sucking piece, laughing that laugh, and Sunny would finally sing in his spark. 

Heroes got happy endings like that. 

Right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we set the stage for the kind of dynamite the Autobots are inviting into their base that's just aching to explode without help. When one of them is stressed, the other rises up to defend them.
> 
> Split spark instincts have them hiding and protecting each other from what they view as a threat. Problem is, they don't fundamentally agree on who or what is a threat so they've been keeping things from themselves and each other. 
> 
> They're going to try to hold onto their secrets and make the Autobots pry them from them. Fortunately the Autobots have a team of mechs with separate skill sets that can start putting the pieces together while the twins try to act like everything about them is perfectly normal thank you very much.
> 
> Prowl POV of Sunstreaker's mobility routine and time to meet Prime (and Ironhide!) next chapter.
> 
> Song they aren't singing to each other, they each have verses in it [Janji - Heroes Tonight (feat. Johnning)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bI36Iu6M6s)


	15. Little Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! World building is making my chapters huge, so I split it up. Next now is Optimus' POV for real, hopefully I can get it up before I have to get on my flight.

::Prowler, you gotta see this.::

Prowl instantly onlined at Jazz’s comm over their private line, and placed his frame protectively over Bluestreak before his systems caught up with him. Jazz and Hound were simply standing nearby, and staring upward at the abandoned buildings while Hound pointed and whispered something to Jazz who nodded. Squinting Prowl enhanced his visual feed to see what had gotten their attention. Hound was pointing at - Sunstreaker?!

Their new ex-gladiator recruit from Kaon was balanced high up on the edge of a structural support beam within a bombed out building, on his servos with pedes straight up and pointed toward the sky. As Prowl watched, Sunstreaker lifted one servo so he balanced on the other, and spread out his limbs before he tucked tight and rolled along the beam taking off running with a flip.

Launching off the edge, he pulled his arms in tight and spiraled before he tucked and landed onto an adjacent support beam. Rolling he was up again, twirled before flipping with a twist, and scaling higher toward the roof from one jutting out structural point to the next. 

Watching intently, Prowl extracted himself from Bluestreak and made his way over to the others. Hound stopped whispering to Jazz at Prowl’s approach. Prowl considered them and their secrets for a moment, before he turned his attention back to Sunstreaker, leaping throughout the remains of the building.

“Practicing maneuvers for their aerial combat against seekers I presume.” 

Shaking his helm, Jazz chuckled and smirked at him. “Ya still can’t say Jet Judo, can ya?”

Rolling his optics at Jazz’s teasing, even if he was right, Prowl returned to watching Sunstreaker scale and leap from ledge to ledge up the side of the building. The thought of himself writing reports and having strategy meetings while referring to the gladiator’s complicated aerial combat maneuvers as _Jet Judo_ made him shudder. And he knew Jazz was never going to let it go. The name sound like a silly game Bluestreak would have invented as a youngling and not at all reflective of the seriousness of -

Cycling a ventilation and suppressing his frustration, he remembered his discussion with Jazz the previous evening.

“What it is called is irrelevant now anyway. Ratchet will -“

Sunstreaker was scaling and flipping upward throughout the decaying ruins of what was once an apartment complex with astonishing speed and accuracy. Leaping, or stretching up to grasp one ledge or support to the next, balancing precariously on pedes or servos, seemingly oblivious to his height. As he moved along a beam, the ex-gladiator mimed a series of punches, dodged, then executed a spinning backfist followed by a cross punch, and a knee before he was off flipping and darting upward within the abandoned building again, his movements positively radiated determination.

Spark racing, Prowl engage his battle computer to 70% to run simulations in which _this_ would be applicable in battle. 

“Ratchet will what? We already discussed that - Oh no. Stop it Prowler, I know that look. Ratchet needs medics. You can’t win at this, not against Ratchet.”

But he had to win this. Observing Sunstreaker’s maneuvers, this was more than gaining the mechs Prowl desperately needed with aerial combat skills against seekers now. As far as Prowl knew, Sunstreaker was only armed with an energon blade. What if Prowl gave Sunstreaker charges to carry in his subspace to set among a building? 

How quickly could Sunstreaker scale up a building, and move among it to set charges?

How quickly could he descend -

Reaching the top of the building now, Sunstreaker ran along the edge and performed a series of flips along a top of the building, rapidly gaining speed. There was no way he could halt his momentum before he - 

Launched off the side of the building, and rolled directly through a broken window of an adjacent structure, lost from view. 

Engaging his battle computer to 80% he recalculated projected casualty rates for upcoming campaigns, of planning _attacks_ again instead of simply holding ground and reacting in defense.

How quickly could Sunstreaker find a path to _evacuate_ from a charge laden building?

::Prowler, stop it.::

Visible again, Sunstreaker darted along a ledge and leapt to grab some support bars that stuck out of the ruined building and weaved among them with his servos and pedes.

Simulations of _two_ mechs with this capability were added as he increased his battle computer to 90%. Assuming Sideswipe had similar capabilities, how much devastation could they cause behind enemy lines?

More importantly however, he watched the statistics of Bluestreak’s survival skyrocket if paired with them. How quickly could either of them render aid and cover fire to Bluestreak if his position was compromised high up and increased to -

Prowl flicked his sensor panel in annoyance and twitched it away from intrusive probing digits - except Jazz was in front of him.

Turning with a glare, he found Sideswipe squinting at his sensor panels, servo still extended, digits curled about to flick. Prowl moved his sensor panels out of reach and Sideswipe perked up.

“Huh.” Was all Sideswipe said.

Looking to Jazz was no help, he just shrugged. 

Processing the shock of Sideswipe’s rude audacity, Prowl abandoned his simulations as he rounded on the red ex-gladiator in indignation, but found he could not find the words. “Do you - have you - you do not touch!”

“Morning to you too Prowl!” Sideswipe smiled wide and beamed at him. “I thought for sure your door wingies were stuck. Bluestreak’s flap all around, I noticed yours didn’t last night. Did I fix them for you?” He asked earnestly as he leaned uncomfortably close to peer at them behind Prowl.

“Did you just call my sensor panels, _door wingies_?” Prowl asked, unable to keep the scorn from his tone. And he heard Jazz chuckle behind him, the spy didn’t even have the decency to stifle it.

Sideswipe smiled a wide genuine grin at him and chuckled. “You sound just like Sunny! Me and you Prowl, we’re going to get along just fine.” 

Wincing at his poor grammar usage, Hound interrupted before Prowl could finish running the simulations of how fragged Optimus would be if he simply shot both Jazz _and_ Sideswipe. 

“How long has Sunstreaker been practicing Sideswipe?”

“Practicing?” Sideswipe turned to look up at Sunstreaker. “Oh you mean Sunny’s mobility exercises. Sunny takes the function of his joints and cables very seriously. He checks their function, rotation, and range of motion every cycle.”

Hound was looking at Sideswipe now, his faceplate twisted in confusion.

“His movements are stunning, the way he points his pedes and moves between positions, at times -“ Hound looked back up to Sunstreaker, who was swinging from his servos through a network of support bars and spun and flipped onto a new ledge. “It’s almost as if he’s floating between positions.”

“Oh the pede pointies?” Sideswipe chuckled and waved dismissively. “That’s just a Sunny thing. He likes looking pretty, you’ll see, even in battle sometimes. You should see him when he gets his plating all clean up, he practically sparkles from certain angles during his mobility routine.” 

Hound shook his helm and gave a pointed looked to Jazz. “Mirage is going to blow a gasket.”

“Blow a gasket?” Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest plate . “I thought you said you Autobots had maintenance standards? A rusted joint, a frayed wire or a weak line can be a matter of life and death if a system or joint suddenly seizes mid-combat. Sunny would _never_ blow a gasket.” 

Sideswipe jabbed a digit directly toward Sunstreaker who was currently scaling toward the roof, or what was left of it, without turning to look directly at him and stared at them with a hard edge to his optics as they flashed and dimmed. “What Sunny’s going to blow is all your so called maintenance standards away. He’s particular about certain things. He assesses his health and function every cycle, and likes looking pretty. It makes perfect sense.”

Prowl could feel Sideswipe darting his field around him, agitated then abruptly he smoothed it over and smiled. Looping his right arm around Jazz he leaned on Hound’s shoulder as best he could around Hound’s missile launcher.

Jazz was watching Sideswipe’s reactions without seeming to, and Prowl was missing something here between Hound and Jazz’s subtle pointed looks. Prowl suppressed a huff - Spec Ops Bots - the two of them weren’t even using comms.

“I see you’re enjoying his routine though.” Sideswipe continued now in a cheery tone. “Sunny always drew a crowd in the Pits when he checked his joints and bitie functions. You can look friends and soon to be fellow Autobots, Sunny likes an audience.” 

Wiggling his finger back and forth over Jazz shoulder, he nudged Hound. “But don’t touch.” He warned in a teasing sing-song tone similar to the one Jazz would often use to infuriate Prowl. “Sunny once dislocated Megatron’s wrist joint and stabbed straight though his arm plating ‘cuz he placed his servo on Sunny’s shoulder.”

Sideswipe cackled as elbowed Hound, jostling the confounded green mech around.

“You should have seen the scowl on his face! Megzie was so fragged, he pinned Sunny to a wall and stabbed through his shoulder!” He continued chucking for awhile and when he realized he was the only one, he looked uncertain for a moment as he looked at Sunstreaker then back at Jazz.

“Autobots have got medics right?”

Frag it all. If Sunstreaker _wanted_ to be a medic there was no way Prowl could convince Prime to place him under Prowl’s command. 

“Of course, our Chief Medical Officer was Cybertron’s -“

“Good, so they can just stick ‘Bots arms back on if Sunny accidentally cuts them off.” Sideswipe nodded smugly to himself as if he had come up with a solution to something that should not even be a problem to begin with. 

“…Sunstreaker accidentally cuts arms off?” Jazz asked with a conversational tone, voicing Prowl’s own thoughts but hiding his stunned disbelief.

“Sometimes, yea.” Sideswipe shrugged. “Not on purpose - anymore anyway. It’s kind of a reflex from the Pits. He’s gotten much better since we left the Decepticons - well he doesn’t try to stab _me_ anymore. To be fair, I haven’t seen another mech try to touch him in,” Hesitating he nibbled his lower lip in thought and looked up at Sunstreaker timidly. “A while actually.” 

Less than a klick later, determination flashed through his field as he started to dart it around again.

“You know what? It’s probably best just not to touch him” Sideswipe nodded matter of factly as if cutting arms off a mech or stabbing them for simply touching them was normal, and the solution to it was simply _not touching_ the mech. “He’s really good at sitting still for repairs though, likes to watch the medics. You guys will love him.”

Jazz responded, but Prowl was lost in finding a solution to his own problem as he turned his battle computer up to 63%.

Through this odd discussion, and despite Jazz’s Spec Ops secrets and pointed looks with Hound, Prowl found the direction he needed to do the unthinkable - battle Ratchet for a mech that showed medical aptitude and interest.

A reflex that had their yellow ex-gladiator recruit cutting off arms if he was touched had to have some deep seeded origin. He needed Rung’s support to convince Optimus.

This would take strategy - Rung hated Prowl. 

Psychological evaluations, like medical records were confidential. Rung simply submitted his report to High Command with his professional opinion of where a recruit would be most effectively placed, and scheduled follow up appointments when the mechs were on base. The Autobot psychotherapist was a pacifist, but he was professional, and Prowl had won against a few of his placements in the past with Optimus over effective strategies.

To be completely honest, Rung did not actually _hate_ anyone, but Prowl was probably the closest he came to it. The concept of the Wreckers disturbed him, and he had raised objections to Optimus about Impactor’s strategies in the past. Plus the psychologist couldn’t stand when Autobots deliberately avoided him when he _knew_ they knew better. 

Prowl never showed up to their one on one appointments Rung still submitted to his schedule every decacycle. 

But Rung _did_ like Bluestreak. Prowl had always ensured his little Blue attended his appointments. And would suffer joint sessions with him if Rung recommended it.

Bluestreak had made a lot of progress in his therapy from the near feral and starved youngling Prowl had frantically dug out of rubble. Servos dented and seeping energon decacycles after Praxus has been decimated; everyone else had given up on finding survivors. Prowl found him though, at the site of what use to be a public park for younglings to play and socialize, trapped under his deactivated creators. Dedicated and loving creators, who had used their own frames to take the brunt of the rubble that would have crushed their precious youngling just one vorn out of his sparkling frame. 

A quiet unending stream of words from a vocalizer laced in static had gotten Prowl’s attention. As he tore through the rubble, with a focused determination that _someone_ had survived, Prowl continued to run his battle computer at full. The sight of the dented and scared youngling continuously babbling for his creators to respond to him, snapped Prowl away from compulsively running simulations to see how he had missed this consequence of his decisive actions with Vos. He had been trapped in a glitch, unable to find his error. 

Prowl had to cut through a structural support bar that had skewered Bluestreak’s creators together. The one on top of Bluestreak would have remained functional for cycles over his trapped youngling as his energon slowly leaked out onto him. Bluestreak had had his field intermingled with his creator as the mech slowly deactivated, that kind of emotional trauma - to be linked to a field as a creator terminated as a youngling - Little Blue had come a long way through a lot of effort, determination and support of his new family while working together with Rung.

When Prowl took the shaking Bluestreak in his arms, Bluestreak had clung to him and the heat of a living mech’s frame, refusing to let go. Prowl had walked around with Bluestreak literally clinging to him for a quarter of a vorn chattering away about everything in his view, every sound he heard. Emitting spark wrenching screams in binary if he was removed, Prowl was forced to keep his battle computer down from 100% to learn to comfort the youngling.

The youngling that clung to him, with his permanently drooped and lowered sensor panels, apparently didn’t care about Prowl’s consuming guilt - didn’t care he failed to predict the fall out from his cold attempt to stop Vos from being overrun by Shockwave’s abominations. Instead he clung to Prowl as a savior.

Prowl would be lying to himself if Bluestreak hadn’t offered him hope in return. 

Looking over to where he had left his little Blue in recharge, he noticed he was online and sitting up with his legs crossed. His mouth hung open while his sensor panels slowly moved in and out in stunned awe as he looked up at Sunstreaker’s apparent assessments of his joints and function.

Bluestreak, it seemed, was struck speechless at Sunstreaker’s display of skill. The sight of him sitting there, despite everything, caused Prowl to dial back his calculations to 50% again. Prowl had already made his choice anyway.

“Hey, uh. I know we just met and all, but since we’re going to be on the same team and everything - you guy have any rations you could spare? I’m kinda running on fumes.” Prowl looked over alarmed to see Sideswipe rubbing at his fuel tank, his optics dim and flickering as he swayed on his pedes.

“Of course mech.” Jazz’s field spiked in alarm as reached into his subspace to retrieve a ration. “Should have thought of it sooner.”

At the sight of the clear, glowing cube, Sideswipe’s tanks rumbled and his attention locked on it like a starved mech. How long had it been since these mechs had clean energon in their tanks? Berating himself for not offering them fuel last night, Prowl had been distracted reading reports and monitoring their attention on Bluestreak.

Prowl did not envy Ratchet and his medics as they worked to clean vorns of build up from their lines.

“Sideswipe!” Bluestreak's alarmed squeak gained all their attention as he scrambled to standing. “Can Sunstreaker make that jump? I mean, I know he’s good, I’ve been watching but look how fast he’s flipping, he’s not going to be able to stop and -“

Cube forgotten in his servo Sideswipe looked up to where Bluestreak was pointing and smiled at Bluestreak.

“Naw Bluestreak, Sunny can make it.” Then he chuckled. “Remind me to tell you about the time my jet pack ran out of fuel in Vos, now _that_ was a jump he almost didn’t make. But that’s really nice of you to be concerned about him. I’ll tell Sunny, he’ll like that.”

And as Sunstreaker continued to flip, end over end while picking up speed, Prowl failed to see the combat applications of that particular maneuver. Soon though, Sunstreaker ran out of building. Launch himself off with an arching twist, his blade detached, shooting out from his wrist, and wedging into his targeted adjacent building. Digit claws extended from his left servo as he hit the ledge, slipped, and started to slide down using them to slow his momentum. On his way down he passed his blade, grabbing on to it to help slow his descent as he dug gouges into the building.

When he reached the bottom he retracted his digit claws commonly seen on Decepticons, pulled his blade out of the wall, and reattached it into his wrist with a smirk.

Bluestreak rushed toward the ex-gladiator, chattering excited praise as he applauded. Spark leaping out of its casing, Prowl tensed as Sunstreaker focused intently at Bluestreak’s enthusiastic approach. Visions of Sunstreaker cutting off Bluestreak’s arm and his little Blue’s screams assaulted his cortex.

::Bluestreak! Don’t touch -::

Sunstreaker moved before Prowl had a chance to draw his weapon. Dodging around Bluestreak, the yellow ex-gladiator barreled straight toward Sideswipe with murder on his faceplate.

“You can’t tell me _that_ doesn’t dull your blade and your pointy digits.” Sideswipe taunted as he peered through his transparent cube of energon with one optic and stuck out his glossa. 

As Sunstreaker closed the distance, Sideswipe actually squeaked out an “eep,” but didn’t manage to dodge. Tackling Sideswipe to the ground with a crash of plating, they fought over the cube, engines revving out growls. Sideswipe’s servo pushed against Sunstreaker’s faceplate as the yellow gladiator snarled at his conjunx to hand it over. Other arms tangled, Sideswipe managed to contort and wiggle his frame enough that he could reach out with the side of his lips and slurp up the cube.

“You fragging idiot!” Sunstreaker finally managed to get a servo free and smash the empty cube out of Sideswipe’s servo.

“Oh Primus! Sunny, you have no idea how good that was, smooth, clean and -.”

“Did you have to drink the whole slagging thing?” Sunstreaker looked like he was considering cutting the fuel out of Sideswipe to syphon for himself.

Bluestreak ran straight by Prowl, dodging away from his servo when he tried to stop him and slid to a stop by the pile of bonded ex-gladiators, potentially killing each other over a ration. 

Shoving his own ration in front of Sunstreaker, the yellow mech extended his blade out of reflex but froze when he saw Bluestreak.

“Hey guys, don’t fight over fuel. Look. We have more. There’s some for you too Sunstreaker.” Bluestreak’s sensor panels were alternating between spiking high in alarm and a low worry with a flutter. 

Platting suddenly clamped tight, Sunstreaker glared at the cube from Bluestreak as if it was about to explode. Retracting his blade and shoving Sideswipe’s grinning face back down, he kept his right servo pinning Sideswipe’s face as he very carefully took the cube between two digits with his other.

“Hello Bluestreak.” He grimaced between clenched denta staring intently at Bluestreak’s sensor panels currently held low and fluttering.

“Hi Sunstreaker!” Bluestreak’s sensor panels lifted again and started to move around in his excitement at finally being acknowledged. He practically vibrated on his pedes to get a greeting out of the close lipped mech. “Your routine is amazing, do you think you could teach -“

Sunstreaker’s faceplate abruptly twisted into a snarl and he recoiled his servo from where he had been shoving Sideswipe face, keeping him pinned to the ground.

“Did you just fragging _lick me!?_ Do you even know where my servos have been?”

“I could probably tell you a list!” Sideswipe wiggled with a wink.

Sunstreaker started making a strange growl from his intake and nasal ridge as his cooling fans clicked and whirred and Sideswipe managed to wiggle free, his own clicking to life. Snatching the cube from Sunstreaker’s servo with a triumphant laugh Sideswipe scrambled to standing, held it high, and crowed. 

“I win!”

“Frag you! That’s mine!”

“Like you are going to slagging drink it.”

Shoving the cube it into a subspace pocket on his outer upper leg, Sideswipe transformed and took off with Sunstreaker close behind, revving his engine in threat and promise of pain for all of Iacon to hear.

Standing stunned and still processing what had just happened, Hound broke their shock with a question in the ex-gladiator’s wake. “Uh, sirs? How long until they notice they are going in the wrong direction so you think?”

They could still hear Sunstreaker’s roaring engine echoing in the distance. 

Jazz gave a pointed look to Prowl with a smirk and Prowl knew he was thinking the same thing - except, knowing Jazz, the spy was probably imagining it in greater detail.

Rubbing his chevron Prowl sighed. “Jazz, sent a coded message to Prime. Tell him we’re going to be late.”

“Can do. I’ll make sure to tell the Boss Bot that we’re delayed by a couple of petrorabbits from the Pits.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“C’mon Prowler, you know Optimus will think they’re adorable together.” Jazz flashed his visor in a wink.

Prowl vented in defeat. Optimus would. 

“Wait.” Bluestreak turned his attention from where he had been staring after their new recruits. “They went off to interface? _Again?_ ”

Jazz chuckled as he walked forward, tossing his arm around Bluestreak.

“You need to listen more closely to their cooling fans, Blue. They were wrestling and fighting, sure, but their frames were practically aching for each other the entire time.”

As Jazz went on to unabashedly explain different foreplay and flirting techniques between mechs, Prowl, and his apparent _”over protective”_ Creator protocols, tried not to listen.

Briefly, it crossed his cortex if he truly wanted the processor ache of _both_ these new recruits under his command.

Sideswipe was simply odd - confounded Jazz, which was not promising for Prowl - and had found the story of Sunstreaker stabbing Megatron for touching him _and surviving_ hilarious. Sunstreaker apparently had a deep seeded reflex for cutting off arms if he was touched and who knew what else. He barely seemed to tolerate the Autotobts, _or_ his conjunx.

Prowl had never won against the Autobot CMO when it came to Ratchet getting his servos on a mech with medical aptitude. 

This time had to be different. There as more at stake. For this, he’d even go meet one on one with Rung .

Prowl had calculated that he could increase Bluestreak’s survival rate by 18% if he partnered him with those two recruits, and that was before he had a complete profile of their abilities. He didn’t even bother with the comparative statistical predictions of Autobot survival rates if Ratchet gained an additional medic. 

He simply did not want to know. 

One glance at Bluestreak and his smiling faceplate as his sensor panels moved about in excitement with questions to Jazz, was all it took for Prowl to remind himself what he owed these, in all probability, highly unstable ex-gladiators conjunx endura.

That he could keep them away from Shockwave and what ever monstrous plans he had for bonded pairs was an extra incentive. He'd find a place for them, he owed them that much and more.

Prowl's little Blue always offered him hope to keep searching when his calculations stated all hope was lost.

One cycle, he would find the answers he sought.

But he wouldn’t become like Shockwave, lost in logic and calculations while he searched.

His little Blue always reminded him of that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The old lick defense. Works every time.
> 
> Partly, Sideswipe was distracting Sunstreaker away from Bluestreak's follow up questions. He was so happy Sunny said hello. Also, Sideswipe just likes Sunny's attention.
> 
> Hound noticed something!!!!


	16. That Prime Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is thanks to Carinatae who asked "surely once they meet Optimus they will believe he won't do anything too horrible to them."
> 
> Originally when I wrote this story this scene didn't exist. I was too afraid to try to write Optimus. Well now I tried, and I think the story is better for it so thanks so much for your reviews. I've said it before but I'll say it again. I have made a bunch of edits based on reviews that has helped me tell this story better.

“I simply do not trust it Optimus. Two ex-Decepticons, _ex-gladiators_ have suddenly decided to switch sides this late in the war? Right as we are in the final stages of completing the Ark? They should be searched, and locked up.”

Optimus suppressed a sigh at Ultra Magnus’ repeated objection as he looked toward the approaching salvage team containing his second and third in command and their apparent new recruits. The report they had received in a data burst from Jazz and Prowl had been brief. 

Prowl and his team were arriving back from the outskirts of Iacon with two new recruits that had earned high recommendations from both Prowl and Jazz for their enlistment.

“They have allegedly been neutral for the majority of the war Magnus. When the team arrives we will learn more, Jazz would not permit them to come this far if he believed them spies.”

“That is not true Optimus. Jazz would allow spies into our ranks if only to spy on them in turn.” A valid point, Jazz _had_ done it before. But his Head of Special Operations would have informed Optimus if that was his plan. 

There had been no coded message indicating that plan imbedded in the data burst. The only addition to Prowl’s message from Jazz stated he wanted Optimus there to greet the new recruits to help make them comfortable. Stating the ex-gladiators were spooked and that he’d explain more privately later, he recommended Red Alert not be present during introductions. 

Oddly though, he requested Ironhide’s presence.

Optimus trusted Prowl and Jazz’s assessments implicitly, even if he had not yet been given all the details. But he was starting to reconsider asking Ultra Magnus to join him at the main entrance of their headquarters.

“If they have been neutrals for vorns, I shudder to think when the last time was they received maintenance. I cleared most of my staff’s schedule for this.” Ratchet was glaring at the approaching convoy, and the apparent scratched and dented red and yellow alt modes, from his place beside Optimus as if he could already begin his assessments and repairs.

General introductions and orientation normally came first but in this case, the trip to the Medbay to begin their medical assessment and screening took priority. Ratchet would have it no other way. When they were cleared, they would be assigned their bunks in the barracks followed by psychological evaluations with Rung. Afterward they would be given their copies of the Autobot code and attend a session with Ultra Magnus to provide a detailed summary followed by basic weapons and combat training with Ironhide. 

The entire assessment process for new recruits took a number of decacycles to complete but Optimus assumed these two would not take nearly as long in basic training. Anyone else, and Optimus would say their endorsement was neutral, but from Prowl, it had been practically glowing. _Displayed unique aerial combat maneuvers and cababilities_ his databurst had stated.

“I am certain they will be grateful for you and your staff’s care Ratchet.” Optimus smiled at his oldest and dearest friend. “The life of a neutral this late in the war is not an easy one.”

“I thought all the neutrals were off planet by now.” Ironhide interjected. “Scavengers ain’t going to have an easy time, hardly anything left for us and we’re organized to find it.”

The statement pained Optimus and the matrix attached to his spark throbbed at the thought of their dying world. The war had lasted longer than any Cybertronian could have predicted. They raised their own cities and ravaged the resources of their home world to the brink. Perceptor calculated they had past the point of no return, Cybertron was dead. It just didn’t know it yet.

All because Megatron could not accept that the matrix had chosen Orion Pax. Or at least that’s what Optimus assumed at this point. He no longer fully understood _what_ Megatron hope to achieve. 

The old senate and the corruption of false Primes had been toppled. That had been their goal when they set out to change Cybertron together. 

The new Cybertron they had created from dreams they would whisper in each other’s audial during stolen moments was decay and ruin. A new system, their plans of a new Cybertron where form did not dictate function never got a chance to be raised in place. 

Megatron had turned on Optimus as soon as he saw the matrix, a representation of all the injustice he had suffered, had chosen his conjunx endura.

Resisting the urge to rub at his chest plate, that broken bond still ached.

It always would.

As the group pulled up and transformed, Prowl gave a respectful nod to Optimus, and Ironhide choked and sputtered gaining Jazz’s attention. His weapons specialist and combat instructor started to opened his mouth to speak, so did Prowl but the red ex-gladiator beat them all to the first words.

“Wow, nice place you ‘Bots have. Impressive. Big door. I always wanted to see Iacon.” His excited optics moved from the structure to the each Autobot standing before him and he smiled wide. “And a welcoming committee! You guys didn’t have to go through so much effort, just point us in the direction where we go get our red face thingies - you know what?” He waved dismissively. “Sunny’ll paint ‘em and - “

“You brought back _the_ Sideswipe?” Ironhide’s booming voice cut the red ex-gladiatior off with a slight crackle in pitch as he found his voice, his field spiking in shock. 

“And fragging _Sunstreaker_?!” He hissed with a baffled glare toward Jazz who just looked at him, considered their new recruits again and shrugged. 

The red one looked startled momentarily to be recognized and the yellow one positioned himself in front of his companion with a glare and a threatening rev of his engine - after he pushed a startled Bluestreak who was next to him behind the both of them. It was only a short klick before the red one darted around the yellow one and smiled wide at Ironhide.

“You a fan of our matches big guy? Always nice to meet a fan. What’s your name? It’s been a long time since I’ve been asked to sign something, the war and all. What plate you want signed?” He winked at Ironhide. “I’m not shy mech, you can be honest.”

Optimus knew Ironhide would watch the gladiator matches of Kaon before the war, claimed he didn’t have the fuel tank for the death matches, and he obviously recognized these mechs.

Ironhide ignored the enthusiastic Sideswipe and kept staring at Sunstreaker who glared back at him with his arms crossed over his chest plate, and servos clenched into fists.

“Ironhide, they have proven themselves proficient in battle with,” Prowl paused and looked at Bluestreak who stepped out to stand beside the yellow ex-gladiator again and mimicked Sunstreaker’s posture sensor panels held high. “Unique skills. They are earnest in their wish to join the Autobots and I fully endorse their application, as does Jazz.”

“Prowl you _can’t_ be serious!” Ironhide raised his voice. “Sideswipe I understand, mech’s got talent, but _Sunstreaker?!_ Do you even remember the casualties from the Battle of Polyhex. Well I do! I was slagging there.” 

Ironhide jabbed a digit toward Sunstreaker who clamped his plating tight as if bracing for a blow. “That berserker - no that _butcher_ \- tore through Autobots _and_ fellow Cons. That battle lost us control of the satellite network! You remember the name we gave him? ‘Bots at that battle would break their lines if they saw him again in battle. Haven’t seen him since the beginning of the war. Hoped Megatron finally deactivated him himself.” Ironhide stated, optics still locked on Sunstreaker whose faceplate went frighteningly blank as Ironhide called him a butcher. The yellow mech kept his optics locked on Ironhide fists clenched tight enough to shake.

Bluestreak’s optics were open wide as he dropped his arms from where he had crossed them, his sensor panels dropped low as he took a hesitant step back and away from the coiled yellow mech. 

“Aw, C’mon mech.” Sideswipe tsked as he darted between Sunstreaker and Bluestreak while tossing a protective arm around Sunstreaker who stood immovable, optics locked on Ironhide. “Thought you were a fan. Sunny was just really fragged off that cycle, had some personal stuff go south, you know how it is right? You don’t have to be a mean-aft about it.” 

More quietly, he talked to his companion though it was obvious he wanted everyone to hear. “Don’t listen to him Sunny, you’re not a butcher. And who needs a fragging satellite network anyway? Fragging greedy diode munching mechs who pretend they are fans that’s who.” 

Ironhide sputtered causing Sideswipe to snap his attention back to him. “Go south? GO SOUTH? You expect me to believe he did all that because he was having a slagging _personal day_? Megatron took him down to stop him! I saw it with my own optics.”

Sideswipe’s field lashed out hard and sharp as it spiked in pain causing ever mech around him to flinch, except Sunstreaker who was coiled so tight Optimus didn’t know if he could even still move.

“Yea well I’d like to see _you_ fragging say no to Megatron when Decepticons punish _you_ by strapping you to a table and ripping out your bits while poking at _your_ spark!”

The raging field calmed a fraction of a klick later as Sideswipe looked entreatingly toward Ultra Magnus. “Sunny’s harmless sir. Really. A little rough around the edges sometimes, but just don’t mess with his paint and you’ll be fine. Isn’t that right Sunny?”

The silence was thick as Sideswipe stood with his arm around Sunstreaker with a huge grin on his face, his optics darted among the gathered Autobots. Then Sunstreaker reset his optics, relaxed his plating and servos a fraction and answered.

“What Sideswipe said. Harmless. Touch my paint though, and I’ll cut your arm off.” Sunstreaker's glaring gaze assessed Ironhide up and down as he started to curl his lip up at him as if Ironhide was a stain stuck to his pede.

“See?” Sideswipe laughed and used a digit to push up the other side of Sunstreaker’s mouth and the yellow mech let him. “He’s smiling. Nice and friendly. He’s been hanging out with Bluestreak the whole way here, isn’t that right Blue?” 

Sideswipe reached over beside him to the stunned and confused Bluestreak, tossing his arm around him too, pulling him close causing Ultra Magnus and Ironhide to tense. “Classic Sunny joke about the arm thing though, he’s a riot, you’ll see. Now about those Autobot face thingies…”

“Which one of you idiots are injured?” Ratchet interjected as he pushed past Ironhide. The Autobot’s weapon’s specialist tried to hold him back, but Ratchet glared at Ironhide’s servo on his arm then at Ironhide until he let go. Marching forward toward the two ex-gladiators, they took a few steps back at his determined approach, dragging Bluestreak with them. 

Then Sunstreaker positioned himself in front of Sideswipe with a glare and Sideswipe actually peeked out over Sunstreaker’s shoulder with an identical glare of his own.

“It’s okay guys, that’s Ratchet he -“ Bluestreak was cut off as Sunstreaker revved his engine in warning. 

“He’s _my_ idiot. I fixed his ankle joint last night. Neither of us need repairs.”

Ratchet stopped and looked at Jazz with disbelief and Jazz just smiled, shrugged and tilted his helm to the side. Optimus smiled at their silent exchange. He knew how much Ratchet needed new medics and how much Jazz liked leaving out details like this.

Looking down at Sideswipe’s ankle joints, Ratchet huffed as Sideswipe shuffled his pedes out of view behind Sunstreaker.

And Optimus’ spark broke as he remembered the pain in that field Sideswipe had lashed out. The red ex-gladiator was terrified of medics - of being examined - and his partner was protecting him. As Jazz said, both of them were spooked - terrified - of the _Autobots_.

“Ratchet will not injure you.” Ratchet whipped his helm towards Optimus in shock then back to the ex-gladiators before him. Looking at them in a new light, he softened his stance. “He is a medic who has sworn an oath to do no harm. He has my complete trust. You have my word.” He assured them.

Surely his word as Prime would offer some assurance to the mechs as they learned to trust Ratchet through experience.

“Sunny can do repairs. Just point us to the parts and then point us to your battles. Plus no offense, but we just met you, what’s your word worth?” Sideswipe said but he kept his glare locked on Ratchet.

Ultra Magnus bristled beside him but Optimus felt his mouth drop open a fraction.

Jazz started laughing which got both the ex-gladiator’s attention.

“Sideswipe. Sunstreaker.” Jazz jerked his helm and a thumb toward Optimus. “Meet _that Prime guy_.”

Both of the ex-gladiator’s optics locked on Optimus simultaneously and opened them wide. 

Plating relaxed from Sideswipe’s frame and he smiled wide but he shot a final suspicious look at Ratchet as he stepped out from behind Sunstreaker. 

“You ‘Bots brought out your leader to meet _us_? We’re honored.” Together, the two of them dropped onto one knee with a servo over their respective chest plates and stared at the ground. 

Ratchet shifted uncomfortably at the sight nearby him. Optimus’ spark clenched and his lines ran cold to see them bow before him like they would have to the Pit Bosses or honored guests before and after a match. He knew Megatron had adopted the custom but to see it -

Before Optimus could tell them to rise - this wasn’t necessary, Sideswipe peeked up at him.

“So do we get our red face thingies from you then? Say an oath?”

“Please stand. Bows aren’t necessary here.” Sunstreaker went to stand but Sideswipe shot out his servo to stop him, and looked up at Optimus, smile still in place. Optimus could feel his field flickering around the edges of his own, probing. Anytime Optimus attempted to invite him to mingle his field further to assure him, Sideswipe retreated his own, determined to only dart along the edges.

Settling to attempt to assure him through those darting edges Optimus explained,  
“We have some requirements you must pass first, medical exams, assessments, some documents for you to read and sign.” Sideswipe wilted at Optimus’ words.

“But we showed - Prowl and - aren’t you ‘Bots still at war?” He looked confused at all the Autobots around him, he seemed lost as he looked at Prowl and Jazz who simply inclined there helms toward Optimus, returning his attention back to him. “Don’t you - don’t you still _need_ mechs like us?”

Sunstreaker would not even look up from his pose he had reassumed to meet Sideswipe’s look toward him, but his servos clenched tight. 

“I do not wish to place my Autobots in needless danger beyond their abilities. Your skills need to be assessed for proper placement. Physical medical assessments and maintenance is a requirement for joining the Autobots. It would be best if you begin with those. I ask that you follow Ratchet to his Medbay and please do cooperate with him and his staff. I remind you, they will not harm you. You may bring any grievance to me personally.” 

Ironhide tried to object that Optimus was trying to offer encouragement and support to mechs he evidently thought needed no coddling.

But honestly, Optimus coddled every Cybertronian if he could. The matrix demanded that they all feel like his sparklings at times. He’d even coddle his oldest friend Ratchet who knew him before he was Prime, if he’d let him get away with it. 

The war and the destruction of Cybertron physically pained Optimus and seeing two of his own trying to hide their terror as they prostrated themselves before him, was extremely difficult. They trusted no one but themselves, yet here they were, trying to ask for help the only way they knew how - in exchange for their skills in destruction. How had Cybertron has come to this?

It would take time to break down the walls and gain the loyalty of these two mechs. 

A whisper beyond hearing promised that if the Autobot’s could gain these ex-gladiator’s trust, Optimus would be entrusted with a rare and precious gift.

He couldn’t help but smile softly at the both of them, and the promise of that whisper.

“Once you are finished your assessments, _then_ Sideswipe, you and Sunstreaker can get your Autobot red face thingies you are so excited to have.”

Sideswipe beamed up at Optimus and his optics glinted at his words. Motioning with his helm he indicated for them to follow Ratchet, who had started to head back into the base after he passed Optimus with a confused look. He knew he’d have Ratchet barging into his office for explanations later. 

The current Autobot recruits stood as one.

Waving at Optimus shyly as he past, Sideswipe darted to catch up to Ratchet and started chattering away to him about how Sunstreaker was really strict about maintaining his joints and functions, and how both of them would certainly pass their tests. Optimus did not miss the extra wary distance Sideswipe still left between himself and Ratchet, despite his apparent enthusiasm.

But Sunstreaker stopped abruptly out of his storming stomp, directly in front of Optimus causing Ironhide to tense and cycle his weapons online. Crossing his arms over his chest plate, Sunstreaker ignored Ironhide and stared at Optimus in a silent challenge as his gaze took in his posture and frame. 

Finally his lip curled up into a snarl.

“Megatronus really hates you.” There was a sharp stab of pain in Optimus’ spark at those words delivered matter of factly, but his response was simple.

“I am aware.”

“His spark chamber isn’t where you think it is.” That revelation startled Optimus. “I can tell you all the places I tried when we fought in the ring and when he asked to spar. I could never find it either. But I suspect he has it moved constantly.”

“Sunny! Stop doddling!”

“I don’t fragging doddle.” He yelled back at Sideswipe without his focus leaving Optimus. Before he left he gave one final glare. “You just had to fragging encourage him by calling Autobot insignias, red face thingies. He’ll never let that go now.”

Sunstreaker was sneering at Optimus, but as the new recruit turned to look at Sideswipe waving at him to hurry up, Optimus was suddenly struck as that sneer lost its edge. 

And he _swore_ Sunstreaker had been smiling at him.

Or at least trying to.

Then the yellow mech stomped away straight up the path, causing Autobots who had come to gather at the commotion to dart out of his way, and into the Autobot’s main base,.

Ironhide was left sputtering beside Optimus.

“Seriously Prime!? You just let the fragging gladiator Sunstreaker, _the Butcher of Polyhex_ , into our base without even searching his subspace? He fought death matches and dissected mechs alive for cheers. He’s a slagging monster, doesn’t care for no mech.”

“Now that ain’t true,” Jazz interjected.” You can’t tell me you didn’t notice how the two of them bicker like you and Chromia, ‘Hide. And the way Sideswipe hid from Ratchet behind Sunstreaker, now that’s just what you do when you need a check up. ‘Cept Chromia drags you to Ratchet instead of shielding you.”

Ironhide’s jaw dropped open. Optimus just chuckled as he remembered Jazz’s later coded message about being delayed because they picked up some petrorabbits.

“Just because they are conjunx endura does not mean we should trust them.” Ultra Magnus interjected.

“Look, its obvious they’ve been scavenging for vorns, you saw the state of them. There’s some rumors I ain’t never got confirmed that bonded pairs have been going missing from the Decepticon ranks. Some ‘Con’s been makin’ ‘em disappear and Megatron’s been lookin’ the other way. Trine’s aren’t bothered so the seeker’s don’t care. Those two? They fled. I overheard them say if they went back to the Decepticons they are as good as dead.”

“That doesn’t make them loyal.” Ironhide objected.

“They ain’t loyal to us. Not yet. But they ain’t ever going back to the Decepticons. You didn’t see what I did. Sparkles and Sides, they’re a couple of ex-Gladiator, ex-Decepticon sweet sparks. Sparkles _adores_ that goof, and Sides loves that growly mech to bits. It’s been vorns since the Pits closed, and it’s been a pit of a war ‘Hide. Mechs can change, or did you forget my job application? If you did I’m hurt.”

Optimus smiled at Jazz’s exaggerated pout. 

He very much remembered the night Jazz broke in, planning to kill him then changed his mind. He’d onlined to Jazz simply crouching at the bottom of his berth staring at a dagger. When Optimus greeted him, he jerked his helm toward him, visor flaring and he took off out of his supposedly secured window. Only then did Optimus realize that his chest plate had been opened and the matrix was exposed. Ironhide had been furious. The very next cycle deactivated Decepticons, and some mechs they had thought to be Autobots started to be found left around the base. Later injured Autobots that had been captured by the Decepticons began to appear in the Medbay.

Drove Prowl and Red Alert crazy that they could never find Jazz, or the apparent infestation of Decepticon spies Jazz kept leaving around with little notes.

Jazz saw him smiling.

“Seems our Prime’s got that effect on mechs. That’s the most I’ve heard Sparkles speak without prompting from his sweet spark. Think you got a point under his armor Prime. Sideswipe is odd - might have a few chips lose, and Sparkles humors him, likes that you did too.” 

Looking at Ironhide, Jazz continued, “I’d place credits down that Sideswipe was almost killed at the Battle of Polyhex, or that was himself he was talking about strapped to that table while Megatron took Sunstreaker to battle. You know how vicious conjunxes can be when their bonded is threatened or in pain.”

Optimus knew all too well.

Ironhide still sputtered protests and Jazz nudged his shoulder.

“C’mon ‘Hide, their application was pretty epic, I recorded some of it for you. They saved little Blue from seekers by riding and steering ‘em into buildings like they were toys. Call it Jet Judo. You’re gonna love ‘em. Shame Ratchet is going to make Sparkles a medic.”

Prowl walked up and handed Ultra Magnus a datapad.

“Please ensure that cutting or tearing an Autobot’s arm off for touching another is added to your lesson of what not to do as an Autobot.” Prowl stated with a smirk as Ultra Magnus jolted. “Sunstreaker was not joking. As Jazz said, Sideswipe is odd. He has an odd sense of humor, and he seems to find the thought of his conjunx tearing off arms if he is touched funny.”

Turning toward Optimus, Prowl nodded. “I will have a full report submitted to your desk within the joor Optimus. I do hope you finished the others I gave you before I left.” He teased before he continued toward the base without waiting for a response, and Optimus watched after him. His SIC seem to be in oddly good spirits.

Hound followed after with a nod and a “sir.” Optimus was not surprise to see Mirage appear beside him shortly into the base. Hound wasn’t startled at all, had even started talking before Mirage became visible, something about needing to show him a recording of a dance.

“Optimus sir?” Optimus turned to see Bluestreak standing nearby shuffling his pedes.

“Yes Bluestreak, what is it?” Optimus smiled encouragingly at his youngest charge as he remembered the time young Bluestreak had curled into his lap at his desk for a story. Prowl had gone ballistic trying to find where he had run off to.

“I - I don’t know if this means much to you sir, but Jazz has been training me for Spec Ops interrogations and Sunstreaker did listen to me talk the entire way back, and I mean, the _entire_ way. He never yelled at me to shut up sir, not once. I think - I think he really is trying, and Jazz doesn’t agree with me so it might not be in his report, and I know what Ironhide said about him but -“ Bluestreak’s sensor panels lowered “I think Sunstreaker is really shy.”

“Thank you Bluestreak, I will keep your assessment in mind.” His response perked Bluestreak up and he saluted formally.

“Thank you sir.” He turned to leave.

“Oh and Bluestreak? How would you feel to be in charge of our new recruits’ orientation around the base?” Optimus offered with a smile that grew as Bluestreak’s sensor panels started to move around, obviously thrilled.

“I would love that sir! Sunstreaker doesn’t scare me but he might frighten others.”

“I believe you might be right about that. I suspect Ratchet will have them over night in the Medbay, I will inform him and Prowl that you have been assigned the task.”

“Thank you again sir. For giving them a chance.” Optimus extended his servo onto Bluestreak’s shoulder and gave him and encouraging squeeze.

“We all deserve a chance, Bluestreak. The outcasts among us most of all. None of us are without our scars. I am proud you understand that.” Bluestreak beamed in shy pride as if uncertain what to do with such praise and simply settled into smiling then darting away with a quick and final sir.

“You can not possibly be that naive Optimus, there are laws. Rules for a reason. You have just let a butcher into our base. You saw as much as I, the two of them were ready to take Bluestreak hostage in an instant.” Ultra Magnus crossed his arms in front of him as he stared after Bluestreak. “Prowl would have given them anything to get him back. They are survivors first Optimus. You will do well to remember that.”

“Ultra Magnus, once we get the final pieces of the Ark in place you have elected to remain behind as Elita-One’s second in command. Do me a favour,” Optimus turned around and gestured toward the ruins of Iacon, “Look around you, really look. Our entire planet is dying. None of us that remain are blameless. Not anymore. This cycle of war and mistrust needs to end Magnus. It is not a matter of naivety, I am fully aware of the horrors that have been wrought - from both sides. I can not control Megatron’s actions, but I can control my own. I choose to trust, and earn trust in return.”

“When this goes poorly I will take no pleasure in stating I told you so. There will be casualties.”

“And that’s where I think you are wrong. In the end, it is a matter of perspective and no one mech can see it all, even I no matter how hard I try. You Ultra Magnus, you saw two terrifying ex-gladiators, ex-Decepticons about to take Bluestreak hostage because you were told that’s what they were. You expected the worst from them before you even met them.”

Ultra Magnus went to speak and Optimus stayed him by holding up his servo.

“Give them a chance and they might surprise you. I have no delusion that they aren’t going to test us, push our boundaries to see how far our trust extends. Instead of judging them perhaps you would do well to try to see us from their perspective, and ask yourself _why_ they are so afraid.” 

Sighing wearily Optimus looked out toward the ruins.

“What I saw first and foremost, were two terrified and scarred mechs with nothing to lose but each other, and no place to call home. They weren’t planning to take Bluestreak hostage. They were going to take him with them. For some reason Ultra Magnus, those two were convinced Bluestreak would be safer with them than with us.”

Ultra Magnus left stating that he would consider Optimus’ words, and Optimus Prime continued to stand there and stare out at the ruins as if he could see all the scars across the entirety of Cybertron. The matrix weighed heavy in his spark as he considered all that had been lost. Perhaps Megatron was right, and the matrix had killed his conjunx when it chose him. Because Optimus Prime could no longer see from the single perspective of Orion Pax, it was both his duty and his curse in this war to continue to see every mech for how they should be viewed. 

Autobots, Decepticons or Neutrals, it didn’t matter. Optimus had to extend trust so that one day, there could be a single definition by which every mech could see.

Cybertronians.

This is why his High Command contained such a vast array of mechs who would argue with him, and with each other. Trust. He trusted each and every one of them to share their perspectives with him.

Ultimately however, he got the final say as he thought of the greater picture. 

Two of his sparklings had shown the courage to take the first step by extending trust while terrified, he simply could not turn them away.

The war had destroyed all of their homes and Optimus refused to lose what was most important.

And he hoped that for them, they would learn to let down their defenses and make their own connections.

Hoped that for them, this could be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Robot Space Dad is so much pressure! I definitely needed to get in that final scene of him staring off into the distance after an Optimus-lecture. XD
> 
> Way to go Optimus! You have won a point with Sideswipe by calling them red face thingies and in return, a point from Sunstreaker because he adores his illogical idiot.


	17. CMO Hatchet

The doors in front of Ratchet opened to reveal a pristine, brightly lit room with beeping medical equipment, that smelled faintly of trace amounts of phosphorous, sulphur and heated cybermetal plating. And Sideswipe froze, unable to take another step.

Terror and anxiety raced through their bond to Sunstreaker. 

//Sunny…//

Sunstreaker shared Sideswipe’s anxiety at the unexpected sight of the Autobot’s Medbay but for an entirely different reason. This room smelled and sounded faintly of home. 

Stunned, Sunstreaker’s spark raced and his digits twitched, aching to sort parts and lay down on those clean smooth surfaces and simply wait for - deleting that line of code Sunstreaker focused on the differences rather than the similarities.

The Medbay smelled strongly of solvent and the by-products of welds _but_ there was no underlying heavy scent of processed energon. The only sounds were the humming and beeping of machinery and the quiet shuffle of the three medics who had turned toward them at Ratchet’s entrance. 

A fourth didn’t bother to turn around at all. The medic looked like he was sorting something, and Sunstreaker longed to see what it was - to be assigned a task.

Differences. Focus on the differences.

The mechs were standing, instead of being strapped to the examination tables, and staring at him instead of -

Spark throbbing and aching to reach along the bond that went no where, it had never occurred to Sunstreaker a repair bay could look and feel so painfully familiar. 

The repair rooms in the Pits were dimly lit, hot from overcrowding, hardly sanitary, and Sunstreaker shuddered to online on their examination tables that often had the processed energon of other mechs or even more repugnant _rust_. Parts were piled haphazardly on tables off to the sides of the rooms and Sunstreaker could barely look at them because his digits would twitch to order and categorize them in their chaos.

He always took the parts he needed, and fled the repair bay as soon as he could to finish his own repairs once he was mobile enough. Only one medic had tried to stop him. Once. The rest never tried again and would get out of his way when he entered silently to take parts for Sideswipe.

More than half the time, they hadn’t known he had entered and left with what he estimated he needed. But he always stopped by the Pit Bosses to hand them their credits for the supplies he took. As long as they got their credits, they didn’t seem to care what Sunstreaker took.

“The two of you can go sit on those berths over there.” Ratchet indicated. “Remedy will be conducting Sideswipe’s examination and I will be performing yours Sunstreaker.”

A minibot waved Sideswipe toward him. 

//Sunny, I _can’t_.// Sideswipe’s terror as he stood rooted to his place in the ground caused Sunstreaker to rise up to protect him. Neither one of them had been expecting to confront this, hadn’t discussed a strategy. They had only resolved to avoid the science labs. 

And Sideswipe had just been assigned to a fragging minibot that _waved_ at him.

This was Unacceptable.

“No.” Sunstreaker stated as he crossed his arms over his chest plate and glared at the minibot who flinched. That expression Sunstreaker was very familiar with regardless of frame or faceplate design, mechs always flinched away from him. 

“Excuse me. What?” Ratchet responded as he turned toward him.

Sunstreaker stood rooted dead center in the Medbay doorway and set his parameters to Ratchet, “I will be examined first, Sideswipe will observe. Once I am completed, Sideswipe’s examination will begin while I observe. Same medic, same procedure. No deviations. Sideswipe choses the medic.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Ratchet placed his servos on his hip plates. “This is _my_ Medbay. I don’t care what kind of fragging medical training -“

“I am not a medic. I put mechs together and I take -” Sunstreaker's explanation stopped abruptly as Sideswipe pinged him hard over their bond.

//Sunny! Be friendly. Be harmless. Remember?//

Bolstered by Sunstreaker’s defense of him and peering out from behind Sunstreaker now, Sideswipe attempted to look relaxed as he leaned on the door frame of the Medbay, still not stepping a pede inside. 

Their bond still echoing in terror.

“What Sunny means is, we watched each other’s backplates in the Pits and later with the Decepticons. We’re Pit pals and we have a rule. One of us is always online during repairs.” 

They had never made that rule but it sounded like a good one to start using. The Prime may have played Sideswipe’s little game about Autobot insignias, but that didn’t mean he was harmless. Sunstreaker played Sideswipe’s games too. 

“And what do you do if both of you are rendered offline.” Ratchet inquired, his optics narrowed but now was not the time to be categorizing emotional expressions.

Sideswipe shrugged. “It’s never happened.” 

It had. Only once. That time Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe’s pain and terror over their bond mid-battle, followed by an abrupt end to completing Sunstreaker’s pings. Sunstreaker had torn off in Sideswipe’s direction, heedless of what was in his path. It didn’t matter Sideswipe was cities away at the time, back in Kaon. 

Sunstreaker would have found him.

The Battle of Polyhex, the Autobots apparently called it. 

When Sunstreaker had onlined, Megatron congratulated him; shown him the results of his carnage. The destruction had been worse than the minibot drones Sunstreaker had been forced to walk by in shame with his Creator - the cycle all his dreams shattered with Bitlet’s panicked pain and screams along their bond.

_Beserker. Butcher._

_Abomination is another word for monster._

Selecting his reward from Megatron, and he had shown the Decepticon who had the made the terminal error of touching Sideswipe’s special spark, the kind of monster lurking in Sideswipe’s orbit. Removing the tankformer's commlink and vocalizer first, he whispered in that Decepticon’s audial how Sideswipe first greeted him with a smile that set his spark racing. Allowing all the faceplate shapes he categorized in his youngling frame to form on his faceplace, he whispered about his lessons with his Creator, and the world he shattered and destroyed to save his special spark. Placing his tools from his subspace perfectly in line, he pulled out his datapad containing his lessons, set himself an objective and took notes as his chronometer counted forward.

Sunstreaker had set a new record for keeping a mech functional while removing and shifting internal components.

Ratchet narrowed his optics at them, focus lingering on Sideswipe leaning against the doorway for longer than Sunstreaker liked so he took a step to the side and blocked his view.

“Fine.” The Autobot medic huffed. “I am the Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots. Sideswipe, if it will make you more comfortable I will conduct your examination and any necessary repairs.”

Sideswipe peeked past Sunstreaker, scanning the Autobots in the room.

A red and dented arm pointed over Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

“I want the little guy over there not paying attention.” There was a squeak and the small Autobot medic turned around, the tools he was sorting rattled on their surface he was holding and -

//Fraggit Sideswipe. You just had to chose the Autobot with a slagging _visor_ and _blast mask_?//

//He was pretending we weren’t here. I like him.//

//Whatever.// If that’s the one Sideswipe wanted, he’d have him.

“No.” Ratchet objected. “That’s First Aid. He’s only an apprentice medic.”

“That makes him even better.” Sideswipe smiled and waved at him, then took his first step into the room that reminded them of the home Sunstreaker knew Sideswipe would rather forget. Clinging hard to their bond Sideswipe focused on the apprentice medic he had chosen with the frame design Sunstreaker had no hope of being able to understand if he used his field and didn’t mean what he said.

Sunstreaker desperately hoped First Aid wasn’t sarcastic.

…………….

Ratchet cycled a frustrated ventilation. Optimus had sent him a private comm about Jazz’s observations and he wanted to help make them comfortable in his Medbay but this -

“First Aid has never performed a new recruit examination he is not qualified! And based on the sight of you, I estimate your systems are half slagged.”

“Then begin his lessons. Sideswipe chose him.” Sunstreaker stomped toward the medberth closest to the door, sat on it, held out his servo with his medical data port exposed and stared at the wall across the room from him. 

Sideswipe took another cautious step into the Medbay then scrambled in after his conjunx motioning for First Aid to come closer.

“C’mere ‘Aid. Sunny won’t bite, he won’t even flinch. He’ll even help guide you through his systems.”

First Aid’s field was panicked as he looked to Ratchet and Ratchet wasn’t about to let them bully one of his staff. 

“Absolutely not.” He loomed toward them. “I am _not_ using you as a test subject for lessons.”

Sideswipe, who had been darting his field around the edges of Ratchet’s and First Aid’s, pulled in tight as he stared at the floor. 

“Please First Aid.” He begged in a quiet voice. “The medics in the Pits were horrible, they didn’t care, and they all joined the Decepticons and I -” He looked around the Medbay, his plating clamped tight and shuddered as he couldn’t finish. 

And First Aid stood tall, reaching out comfortingly toward Sideswipe with his field.

::I’ll do it Ratchet. If it will make him comfortable and you walk me through it?::

Ratchet assessed the ex-gladiators before him. Sideswipe’s plating was still pulled tight as he worried his lower lip and Sunstreaker sat on the medberth staring at the wall across the room from him with his medical dataport still open, his servo still outstretched. He hadn’t so much as twitched since he sat down.

Ratchet’s fuel tank twisted.

By the All Spark. 

They _were_ scared of Ratchet and his Medbay. Two completely different reactions. Sideswipe curling into himself, skittish, optics shifting around, wanting to be anywhere but here. Sunstreaker completely detached as if he had learned it wasn’t worth the fight.

This was more than discomfort around medics. He knew the Pits were horrible but this…

“First Aid may do your examinations,” Sideswipe looked up and smiled at First Aid, extending his field in encouragement. Ratchet held up his servo. “However, he will download the results of his scan to a datapad for me to review, and I will conduct repairs. This is non-negotiable.”

Sideswipe shuffled and after a moment he nodded. Sunstreaker gave no response.

When First Aid reached forward to take Sunstreaker’s wrist Ratchet swore he saw a minute tremble race through his frame but it was gone so quickly Ratchet questioned if he even saw it. And Sunstreaker’s field was pulled in so tight, Ratchet couldn’t feel a hint of it. It was incredibly rude to probe, but Ratchet wondered if he should reach out to try to comfort him with his own. 

There was silence between them, broken only by Sideswipe’s fidgeting and nervous smile as he alternated between watching from where he stood next to Sunstreaker’s medberth and trying to touch Ratchet’s tools. Ratchet talked First Aid through the procedure over their comms as he threatened Sideswipe to stop touching his equipment. 

Ratchet tried to engage Sunstreaker with his field and was intercepted with Sideswipe’s own and a glare. 

“That’s rude. Sunny doesn’t like mingling fields. Leave him alone.”

Withdrawing his field, Sideswipe flashed him a smile and Ratchet grabbed a welder out of his servos with a huff for the umpteenth time. 

::Ratchet. I can’t be reading this right. At least a four of his systems are reading critical errors that should have him in stasis lock.::

::Run it again.::

::I did. This is my third time through the sequence you told me.::

“Sunstreaker, are you feeling alright?” Ratchet prompted.

“Yes.” The yellow mech didn’t look away from the wall as he gave his solitary response.

Ratchet snapped his digits in front of Sunstreaker’s optics and received no response, no flinch or flicker of recognition. 

“Is something wrong with Sunny?” Sideswipe asked as he darted in front of Ratchet, and reached forward to guide Sunstreaker’s faceplate toward himself.

As soon as Sideswipe touched his faceplate, Sunstreaker's chest plate abruptly began its transformation sequence and Sideswipe hastily scrambled to slam it shut with a nervous laugh. At the same time Ratchet heard a thunk-hiss of electromagnetic locking mechanisms.

Turning startled toward Sideswipe - that noise had come from his chest plate.

“What the frag was that?!” Ratchet asked as he glared at Sideswipe who crossed his arms over his chest plate and shrugged with a muttered “nothing.” 

Why did he have locks in his frame?

Sunstreaker’s optics reset at the noise and he looked to First Aid.

“You missed a few systems. I have viruses contained behind layers of coding and a firewall. It causes a glitch that occasionally opens my chest plating if I am distracted.”

With a startled squeak, First Aid hastily disconnected from his systems and Ratchet was moving to contain this breach in protocol.

“Fixit.” He pointed. “Scan First Aid, ensure he did not contract a virus.” Ratchet ordered and First Aid fled toward Fixit.

Rounding on Sunstreaker in a boiling fury, Ratchet puffed up his plating and flared his field. How dare he! 

“You have viruses and you didn’t say anything before you allowed First Aid to sync with your systems?!” First Aid had medic firewalls installed and would most likely be protected, but that was beyond the point. Ratchet’s apprentice was inexperienced, he might be infected and not realized it, they hadn’t covered virus containment. 

Every mech _knew_ to tell the medic before a scan if they suspected they had a virus so precautions could be made, but Sideswipe was smiling - fragging smiling at Sunstreaker. 

Was this a fragging joke to them?

Ratchet had allowed First Aid for their comfort. Well he’d had enough if they were going to purposefully place his medics at risk.

“The viruses posed no risk and now he has learned. I said they are contained, I removed them from Sideswipe’s systems vorns ago.”

Primus he’d had viruses for _vorns_?

“Are the viruses causing the damage alerts stating you should be in stasis lock when you obviously aren’t?” Ratchet crossed his arms in front of him. 

“No. Those alerts are there from previous repairs I conducted. I can not get them to deactivate but I am functioning within -“ Sunstreaker cut himself off for a moment.

“- I’m fine.”

“Sunny’s in pain though, you can at least fix that right?” Sideswipe asked looking at Ratchet suddenly hopeful, his field darting as he smiled. 

“Can I at least -“ Ratchet sputtered then glared at Sideswipe, “Unbelievable. And you? What will I find in _your_ systems?”

“A lot of errors.” Sideswipe stated hesitantly taking a step back as Ratchet dragged his servo down his faceplate. He whipped his attention to Sunstreaker who started to speak as if reading a textbook. 

“Sideswipe has 11 critical alerts but remains functional and out of stasis lock. He requires a new left ankle joint, right shoulder rotator, has 4 fractured back strut plates…”

And as Sunstreaker went on to provide a detailed itemized list of components Ratchet stared at Sideswipe in dawning horror. 

How the slag was he even still functional?

“You. On that medberth now.” Ratchet raged in fury. How dare they stand there and hide this from him in his Medbay. Stand in front of him when he asked if they were injured and state that they didn’t need repairs, then place his apprentice at risk. 

Sunstreaker stood abruptly at his tone and spike in his field but Sideswipe held out his servo toward his conjunx. 

“It’s okay Sunny. Ratchet’s actually going to help us.” And he had the nerve to sound surprised. Looking right at Ratchet, the red ex-gladiator’s field pulsed in a tentative hope as he flit it around the edges of Ratchet’s seething field. “Right Ratchet?”

“Of course I’m fragging going to help you idiots. Sunstreaker get your aft back down on that berth before I have to weld you to it. Sideswipe lay down before you burst a weld, or a clamp, or whatever slag Sunstreaker has been using to hold and stick your glitching aft together.”

Sideswipe backed up, looking at the medberth Ratchet was pointing to as his field spiked in terror before he could pull it tight again and he tried to cover it with a smile.

Ratchet cycled a ventilation to calm his raging temper that wanted to surface at his obstinance, but Sideswipe was obviously still terrified to be here. 

Primus save him, these two were going to be the death of him, he could just sense it.

“Sunstreaker will remain online while I perform your repairs. I will have to place you in medical stasis to assess your function and conduct repairs. I will most likely require additional assistance, if Sunstreaker’s assessment of your systems are anywhere close to reality. Who would you like to have assist me?”

Sideswipe looked around the room at the medics, optics landing on First Aid.

“Not First Aid!” Ratchet warned sternly.

Sideswipe wilted and he worried his lower lip as he glanced between Quickfire and Fixit. He ignored Remedy all together. 

“Can Sunny -“

There was a crash from another patient room that made both ex-gladiators jump and whip their attention simultaneously in that direction. Cliffjumper fled out of the room, muttering to himself as cursing streamed from the room he was exiting.

“Who’s in there?” Sideswipe asked as he perked up with interest.

“That’s Triage. You do not want him. He has a short fuse when it comes to patients.” 

Triage was an effective field medic, one of Ratchet’s best, but his temperament was worse than Ratchet’s when it came to Autobots neglecting their general maintenance. 

He had been Ratchet’s first apprentice after the war had started and he’d learned to mimic his mentor a little too well. Triage would not be as patient as Ratchet had been with these two and was not a good choice to help Sideswipe overcome his obvious medical anxiety.

The cursing continued as a piece of a defibrillator whipped out of the room and hit Cliffjumper in the back of the helm, leaving a dent, despite his attempt to dodge. 

Yes, Ratchet had taught Triage to imitate him a little too well. 

Sideswipe looked back at Quickfire, and Fixit, then finally at Ratchet with a smirk. “I chose Triage.”

“Sideswipe, I really don’t think Triage is the best choice to help you feel comfortable -”

“He sounds really angry.” Sunstreaker interrupted. 

“You’re right Sunny.” Sideswipe agreed distractedly then he smiled wide at Sunstreaker. “That’s what makes him perfect.”

Sunstreaker turned to look at Ratchet. “Sideswipe choses Triage. I observe. If I do not like what I see…” an energon blade appeared from his right wrist -

\- and Ratchet unsubspaced his wrench smacking Sunstreaker on the side of his helm out of reflex as he delivered a warning all Autobot’s learned.

“Do not. I mean, do not _ever_ , threaten my medics. Are we understood?”

Sunstreaker’s engine started revving dangerously and Ratchet considered perhaps this mech from the Pits would not back down from a single whack to the helm. As Sunstreaker loomed forward and flared his plating, Ratchet stood his ground and met his glare with one of his own, belaying false confidence and considering perhaps he should have taken Ironhide up on his offer to stand watch.

A burst of stifled laughter refusing to be contained interrupted the tense stand off between himself and the more increasingly aggressive yellow ex-gladiator. As soon as Sideswipe threw his arm around Sunstreaker, his plating relaxed and the blade retracted. 

“Oh Primus, he just - Sunny he _hit you_. Did you see how fast he moved with that thing? You didn’t even see it coming! You have a _dent_!”

“Shut up.” Plating was clamped tight and Sunstreaker started poking at the dent on his helm. He glared at Sideswipe as if the dent had been his fault. 

“Are all Autobot medics like this?” Sideswipe asked Ratchet as he detangled his arm from Sunstreaker’s shoulder then scooted onto the medbay berth Ratchet had indicated before. “Cuz you ‘Bots really seem to know how to make a new recruit feel comfortable.”

Then he looked at Sunstreaker who was still scowling at Sideswipe and poking at the dent in his helm. 

“Don’t pout Sunny, I’ll help you fix it after.”

“I don’t fragging pout.”

“Sure you do. But we can argue about it later. Ratchet and Triage are going to fix all my red blinking lights on my HUD while you watch, in exchange for us getting red Autobot face thingies, right Ratchet?”

“Insignias, you idiot.”

“Nope, the Prime guy himself called them face thingies, that is the new _official_ term, you can’t just go changing definitions of things willy nilly Sunny. That’s ridiculous.” Sideswipe tsked and shook his helm and the two of them kept bickering.

Unbelievable.

When Ratchet finally got Sideswipe to shut up and lay down by threatening hit him with his wrench, Sideswipe just looked up at him with at him with a smile.

“I know you said this is _your_ Medbay and all, but all this cold brushed silver plating everywhere? Naw, look at you, you’ve got more flair than that. Start with the ceiling, it’s so -“ He shuddered. “Ugh. It would look much better orange don’t you think?”

Primus, how many glitches did they have?

Triage wheeled equipment closer and Sideswipe tilted his helm up to look with a goofy smile. A sudden screech of an engine and a sharp field flare of terror caused Ratchet to stumbled backward. Sideswipe moved so fast, Ratchet didn’t have a chance to stop him; he practically flew off the medberth. Sunstreaker intercepted him before he took off out of the Medbay. 

They stared at each other as Sideswipe trembled and Sunstreaker talked to him softy. 

“I know. I’ve got this. I promised remember?”

Sideswipe looked back toward Ratchet and Triage with a sheepish smile and rubbed at the back of his neck plating.

“Uh, sorry there. For a moment I thought I had a scraplet in my plating. False alarm.”

Sunstreaker sneered at Sideswipe. “I told you they wouldn’t make good pets.”

“But they were so cute in their nest while they recharged!”

“And they ate off half your arm.”

“Well they were cute while they ate my arm too.” Sideswipe muttered.

Ratchet scowled at them. “You know what? At this point I don’t even want to know. Just get the frag back on the medberth Sideswipe before you start bursting welds.”

Sideswipe shuffled forward then stopped and stared at the spark rate monitor Triage had moved closer as if it was a scraplet about to eat him. Though apparently he was glitched enough to find that cute. “You uh…Sunny didn’t say there was something wrong with my spark in his list. Can you maybe leave it alone?” 

“Listen you glitch.” Triage snarled. “You are going to get your aft on that medberth or we -“

“Minibot.” Sunstreaker interrupted while glaring at Remedy. “Where are your supplies?”

Remedy didn’t answer but his optics glanced toward the storage room. That was apparently enough. Sunstreaker stalked forward as he dragged Sideswipe. 

Plopping him on the medberth as he passed, he gave an order, “Stay.”

Ratchet didn’t say anything. The storage room was locked, there was no way Sunstreaker could get in. The yellow mech stood outside the door and glared at the keypad for a few klicks as if it offended him. Then he started pressing buttons. 

After his fifth attempt the storage room door opened and he stomped inside.

“Now wait just a -“ Ratchet’s protest was cut off as Sideswipe reached out from where he was sitting.

“Please Ratchet. Just let him get my parts. He’s worried and he knows he doesn’t have the skill to fix me right. We don’t - it has been just us for a long time.”

“We haven’t even taken a look inside to see what you need.”

“Sunny knows. He knows my systems better than anyone. If you have the parts, he’ll find them.”

They heard the sound of welding equipment activate in the storage room gaining Ratchet’s attention.

“What the -“

“Sunny prepares his parts before he starts sticking them in. He tries to makes the repairs as short as possible.” Sideswipe explained. 

Glaring at Sideswipe sitting on the edge of the medberth, dangling his legs off the side as he waved at First Aid again, Ratchet asked the question he had been distracted from earlier. “You want to tell me why you have locks installed in your frame?”

Sideswipe’s field started darting around again, teasing at the edges of Ratchet’s own. “There was a mech in the Decepticons, liked looking at the sparks of others. Poking at them. Sunny and I made it so he’d have to rip mine out to poke at it again.”

“Sideswipe, I am entirely professional I do not simply -“

“Sparks are private Ratchet. If there is nothing wrong with mine, you’ll have to tear it out of me to catch a glimpse of it.” There was a hard light to Sideswipe’s optics and an edge to his field. Ratchet knew better than to push this. Right now anyway.

Triage wasn’t as kind and his field flared, but before he started verbally tearing into Sideswipe about the obvious safety hazard of such a device, Sunstreaker came stomping out of the storage room pushing a mobile medberth littered with parts. Ratchet’s jaw dropped open a fraction when he saw the pile. He rolled it next to Sideswipe then told him to give him his wrist. Plugging into his medical data port, Sunstreaker placed Sideswipe into medical stasis, catching him before he could fall and arranged him on the medberth.

Then he turned to Ratchet. “Fix him. These parts. No deviations. I promised him.”

Ratchet assessed the pile of parts. Sunstreaker had laid out components precisely where they should be located in Sideswipe’s own frame, some he had already attached together.

Sunstreaker shifted to stand next to the head of Sideswipe’s medberth and loomed as he stared down at Sideswipe.

“Sideswipe’s not going to disappear.” Ratchet huffed in irritation over his shoulder.

Sunstreaker just gave a strange twitch to the side of his mouth and didn’t bother to look at Ratchet as he responded.

“You don’t know Sideswipe at all.”

Ratchet huffed. Well that wasn’t ominous or anything.

…………….

With Sideswipe in medical stasis, Ratchet finally got to run his diagnostic, the results mostly spit back garbage data and errors to him. 

When he removed his plating to see the damage for himself he had to call for additional support other than Triage.

::Wheeljack, I need you in the Medbay. Our ex-gladiators recruits have been surviving by some inventive means. I’m not - I’ve never seen anything like this ‘jack.::

Ratchet looked up to Sunstreaker, who had situated himself quietly, into a nearby corner out of their way. 

Hoverer. Sunstreaker was a hoverer when it came to his conjunx, and Ratchet didn’t have the time to deal with him. When he started to stand too close and stare at Ratchet and Triage’s repairs, Ratchet threatened to kick him out of the Medbay if he so much as twitched or made a peep. Ratchet was surprised it only took one warning. Sunstreaker hadn’t moved from his self imposed corner since Ratchet had threatened to remove him. 

“What the frag did you do to him?” He accused while his field flared begrudgingly with respect. Some of what was keeping Sideswipe functional wasn’t recognizable from whatever original component it had been modified from. Sunstreaker was incredibly resourceful, had obviously received medical training, however incomplete. He certainly had the ego of a medic.

At first Sunstreaker didn’t answer, just stood there in his corner regarding Ratchet silently - expressionless - with his field pulled in so tight Ratchet still couldn’t feel it. He was taking Ratchet’s threat of causing a distraction and hit to the helm seriously. 

If it wasn’t for Sunstreaker’s unnervingly blank stare, Ratchet could have forgotten he was in the room. Triage had already complained venomously over comms, Sunstreaker watching was making his plating twitch. 

“Well? I’m waiting for an answer.” Ratchet scowled at him.

“Would you like the details or an abstract?” Came the response and Ratchet scowled at him for being deliberately obtuse. Fragging smart aft.

“The short version.” Ratchet eventually huffed when Sunstreaker continued to wait for an answer with a smirk.

The simple, emotionless response Sunstreaker gave as he stared straight at Ratchet sent ice shooting through Ratchet’s lines, and he looked back into the mess of Sideswipe’s internals. Some of these internal components didn’t even look like they belonged in a ground frame, let alone one Sideswipe’s size. 

Other components had no business being inside a mech at all.

_I kept my idiot alive. Without him, I’m nothing._

That statement, combined with what Ratchet was seeing in front of him in Sideswipe’s internals, was more threatening than any snarl, growl or the energon blade he had displayed earlier. 

Primus. He hastily constructed an alert to Rung.

When Wheeljack arrived to offer assistance in Sideswipe’s extensive repairs, Ratchet had expected more of a confrontation from Sunstreaker.

Their agreement stated Sideswipe chose the other medic who assisted in his repairs but Ratchet was at a point where he could not in good conscience bring him back online to ask his permission. 

So he defaulted to giving the power of medical decisions to Sideswipe’s apparent conjunx endura because they hadn’t even filled out their forms yet when Ratchet had uncovered this mess. Sunstreaker bristled and flared his plating when Wheeljack was introduced as the head of the Autobot’s Science Division. But when Wheeljack spoke, Sunstreaker stared briefly at the lighted helm fins the scientist used to express himself, and declared Sideswipe would chose Wheeljack. But he watched every move Wheeljack made, especially when Wheeljack took an interest in the custom spark lock around Sideswipe’s spark.

Ratchet honestly couldn’t figure out how Sideswipe made his choices but Sunstreaker evidently understood perfectly.

Because when Sideswipe was brought back online, after taking the majority of the cycle to repair and replace up to half of his systems, Sideswipe had smiled and stared at Wheeljack before he started chattering away to him. Instructing Sideswipe to stay put to allow his self repair to integrate his new systems, Ratchet was filled with trepidation as he considered Sunstreaker in his corner.

How extensive was the damage inside him? Were his optics duller than before?

“Sunstreaker, it’s your turn. On to the medberth.”

Sunstreaker took four steps forward before his optics flickered and he collapsed offline onto the floor.

Scrambling off his medberth, Sideswipe started screaming that his Sunny needed fuel. He was so irate he knocked over the prepared energon, prepped and ready for infusion, and crashed into their supply so First Aid had to rush to the dispenser to fill a new one.

…………

Collapsing into his office chair, Ratchet groaned.

By the All Spark. He’d never met a more paranoid and protective set of conjunxes. He was going to have to start kicking them out of his Medbay during repairs.

Five times Ratchet had had to throw an object at Sideswipe when he slipped off his medberth and began to pace, leading him to start opening random drawers. He was completely undeterred by Triage’s threats and Ratchet had had to kick Triage out, when Sideswipe threw his arm around the medic with a laugh, seemingly oblivious to the thundering storm. 

Mindful of the threat of the viruses in Sunstreaker’s systems, Ratchet had repeated the diagnostic First Aid had run and discovered how well hidden Sunstreaker had managed to contain the virus in his coding. 

As he slowly worked on unlocking and purging it from Sunstreaker’s systems he was surprised to discover they weren’t the malicious viruses he had been expecting. The viruses were all common enough, the majority of mechs contracted them early on in their adult frames from interfacing with a mechs without the proper firewalls.

Why had Sunstreaker not had them purged from his systems? Why aggressively isolate something that had a simple fix?

He had layered them behind so many firewalls and redirected coding loops that it must have taken him cycles of effort with each virus. 

It was simply bizarre.

Fortunately however, he was not as extensively damaged as Sideswipe. Ratchet still needed to open him up and see what was causing those four errors. When he removed plating, he suppressed a shudder as he imagined Sunstreaker’s performing these repairs on himself. Like Sideswipe, Sunstreaker’s frame was littered with illegal modified components and he’d have to sit them down to talk about the risk of glitches they were introducing into their systems. Not to mention the energy requirements in Sideswipe’s systems with his extensive subspace collection. He was worse than Jazz.

More disturbing than any mods, experimental self repair, self constructed locking mechanism around a spark, rabid containment of simple interface viruses, or the fact Sunstreaker stood there running on fumes all cycle to guard Sideswipe as he diverted energy from system after system, was the scan indicating a rotation anomaly with Sunstreaker’s spark.

The bright blue spark inside the ex-gladiator was lopsided and misshapen, and it moved with a strange twist as it completed every rotation to compensate. Ratchet had never seen anything like it. It rotated as if it was unbalanced and weighted in one direction.

“Has Sunstreaker experienced spark trauma in the past?” Ratchet had asked as Sideswipe scowled and complained sparks were private when Ratchet went to check Sunstreaker’s.

“He didn’t get his upgrade to his adult frame when he should have.” Sideswipe explained.

“Why not?” It didn’t make any sense. Jazz suspected Sunstreaker had been raised in the Pits, and even if he wasn’t, there were programs, clinics that creators could go to to receive an upgraded frame.

“Because growing up in Kaon fragging sucked that’s why. Don’t ask him about it. He doesn’t like talking about it.” Sideswipe defended as he pulled a sharp object out of his subspace and fiddled with it. 

Was that a scraplet tooth? Ratchet decided he didn’t want to know.

“It hurts him though.” Sideswipe stated as he looked softly at Sunstreaker. “He thinks I don’t know, but his spark hurts. I think his spark strained and repeatedly scraped against his casing as it rotated before he got his upgrade. He told me he started to shake and process energon started to leak from his nasal ridge and audials.”

Sideswipe shifted and he darted his field at the edges of Ratchet’s and asked so timidly Ratchet couldn’t help but think of him as a youngling despite his warrior build. “Will Sunny be okay? Was his spark permanently damaged?”

Ratchet sighed and attempted to reassure Sideswipe with his field.

“There is little I can do for spark pain I’m afraid. I am not a spark specialist but there should be no further problems since he has the appropriate sized casing now. It does not appear to be causing him strain.”

Sideswipe peeked into Sunstreaker’s open chest plate with a warm smile. 

“That’s okay. I didn’t think you could help. It’s beautiful though. I like the little flip-twist it does as it spins. It’s a very Sunny thing to do.”

Ratchet didn’t comment. He’d have to ask Sunstreaker about this privately when he onlined. Patient confidentiality took priority and if Sunstreaker hadn’t divulged to his conjunx the origins of his spark trauma, Ratchet wasn’t going to inform him. That little flip-twist as Sideswipe called it, wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t caused by not receiving an upgrade at the proper time. 

Not for the first time Ratchet wished Pharma was still on the planet. The majority of Cybertron’s medical databases had been destroyed. Ratchet had attempted to record what he could, and Jazz often brought him whatever he found, but he could hardly be an expert in all fields. 

The Autobots needed more medics, and Sunstreaker’s unconventional innovation was valuable on a world with dwindling resources as Ratchet attempted to preserve as much medical knowledge with his medics as he could. It was clear there were some basics Ratchet had to cover with Sunstreaker first however.

As Ratchet finished up Sunstreaker’s repairs and went to clean his tools, Sideswipe had looked at him with a considering focus as if he was sizing Ratchet up for a fight. Then he grinned. 

“You know I don’t think Ratchet is quite right as a designation for you, it’s a little too…” He wiggled his fingers and wrinkled his nasal ridge, “medically. I mean, you got a hit in on _Sunny_ , and he basically dodges thingies that will touch his paint for a living. You need a more gladiator sounding name with your skills medic.”

Ratchet had just scowled at him and told him to get his fragging aft back on his berth before he welded him to it.

And Sideswipe had chuckled and said “See! That’s exactly what I mean.”

Rolling his optics at him, Ratchet went into his office once Sideswipe returned to his medberth - again - to fill out their charts. 

Ratchet still didn’t know how Sideswipe made his decisions but anytime his field spiked with anxiety, he seemed to relax when Ratchet yelled or threatened him. 

A joor later, Prowl entered his office. 

“You cleared them already? You were suppose to notify Bluestreak so he could bring them to the barracks.”

Ratchet looked up from his desk through his observation window into the Medbay. 

Storming out of his office past Prowl he looked around. His Medbay was empty.

Unbelievable.

“Fragging glitch mice.” He muttered.

Comming Red Alert, he checked security feeds outside the Medbay. Apparently they snuck off into a supply closet. Jazz had chuckled over comms about petro rabbits.

Huffing in exasperation, Prowl smirked at him. “What do you want? I’m warning you Prowl, after the cycle I had putting those two glitches back together…”

Prowl tucked his arms behind his back. “I wanted to ensure all your medics still had their arms attached to their frames. Sunstreaker has a habit of slicing them off if touched.”

Glaring at the black and white mech, Ratchet knew exactly what he was up to. Crossing his arms in front of himself he smirked at Prowl. 

“Sunstreaker was a model patient, he made himself right at home in my supply closet. With the right training he might be more useful to me than Wheeljack for innovative solutions in emergencies.”

The Autobot second in command obviously had not been expecting that response and he glanced around the room as if looking for evidence of a fight, or apparently detached limbs. A disturbing habit to learn of but Ratchet could work with him. The way he had laid out all of Sideswipe’s components a head of time, Ratchet wondered if he could do that with other frames or just Sideswipe.

“He took my wrench to his helm like any other mech Prowl, now stop sniffing around and content yourself with his conjunx under your command. I don’t envy you keeping him on task, he pokes at everything.”

Prowl’s sensor panels gave a slight hitch but despite Ratchet’s smirk, the SIC got the final word as he gestured at the empty Medbay.

“Perhaps you should have welded Sideswipe to his berth. You’re going soft Ratchet. Losing patients. That’s unlike you.”

Emitting a frustrated vocalization after Prowl left, Ratchet went to march out to drag those idiots out of the supply closet and back into the Medbay, but something caught his optics. He paused. On the floor outside his office was a small pile of credits. He glared down at it, had they thought they had to pay?

Huffing he bent down to pick up the credits and as he stood up the name plate on his office door caught his attention. His name had been scratched out and replaced with a messy glyph.

Squinting, he tried to decipher it.

 _Hatchet?_

Grumbling he put a work order in to Grapple.

_CMO ~~Ratchet~~ Hatchet_

Fragging red glitch.

Turning to leave he noticed something out of place on the berth Sideswipe seemed incapable of staying on.

Approaching closer, it resolved into a carving of who he assumed was himself hitting Sunstreaker on the helm with a wrench. It was clearly Sunstreaker, the audial horns on the stick figure were huge.

Struggling to keep the smirk off his face plate he stormed out into the hall to drag them back to the Medbay.

Fragging smart afts were going to be the death of him.

But at least they had the decency not to interface in his Medbay.

Unlike Ironhide and Chromia. Those two were the worst after a battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH! This chapter. I'm tired of looking at it. It was so hard to keep Sideswipe in that room, I had to have Sunstreaker eventually put him in medical stasis.
> 
> And yes. Ratchet is not going to let that spark lock go but he certainly isn't going to remove mods without permission if they aren't causing immediate damage. And definitely not when Sideswipe was obviously terrified. His "discussion with them" will be more of an angry rant. 
> 
> He's going to have a "fun" rest of the cycle trying to catch them. Sunny's looking for detailing supplies.
> 
> And Sunstreaker opening that lock, that will be explained in later chapters.


	18. Sideswipe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cuddles you tight*  
> (Unless you don't like cuddles, then I build you a nest and offer you tissues.)

What was it with fragging Autobots and _talking_?

When the Prime guy had said they had to pass some assessments, Sideswipe had assumed they would all be function and talent assessments. Like “go stab this thingie, or that mech, how far can you jump, or can you operate this weapon?”

 _Normal_ assessments, plus a few forms like the contracts they signed for their adult frames in the Pits.

But so far all the Autobots ever wanted to do was fragging talk, and Sunny was a nervous wreck along their bond.

Ratchet had cut into the washracks Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had welded themselves into for refinishing their plating, and grabbed Sideswipe by his helm horn as he dragged him back to his creepy Medbay of horrors. At least Ratchet hadn’t grabbed him by his collar faring; Sideswipe’s spark had been racing hard enough as he frantically focused on feeling the edges of the medic’s field while he was dragged back toward the room that had no right to look like _that_. The sound of Sunny stomping along behind and feeling him glaring at Ratchet along their bond helped Sideswipe relax a little. 

Back in the stupid Medbay, Ratchet had threatened Sideswipe to stay on the medberth and to not twitch a pede off it, then ordered Sunstreaker into his office to talk.

Autobots were fragging weird, and Sunny needed Sideswipe to help him through a social interaction and Sideswipe couldn’t focus in this fragging metal room that smelled and sounded like fragging Shockwave’s lab.

Sideswipe lasted three breems left alone in the Medbay before he jumped off the medberth just to prove to himself that he _could_ and started riffling through drawers. While he riffled he talked Sunny through his lies and staying calm.

There was a sharp ping of panic along their bond before Sunny started to pull away from Sideswipe and tried to go quiet. Jabbing him sharply before he could go cold, Sideswipe’s plating clamped tight as he glared at his own reflection in the mirror outside Ratchet’s office. As soon as Sunny told him he could see Sideswipe glaring from the other side of the mirror, Sideswipe started to relax.

Reassured if Sunny could _see _him, he hadn’t been left alone in here, he wasn’t strapped to a table with his spark exposed and more importantly, Sunny hadn’t left him behind in here to go do science things.__

__Eager for any distraction to calm his agitation in this room, Sideswipe curiously pressed his face up against the mirror to try and figure out how Sunny could see through it from the other side. Sunny had chuckled despite his nervousness over their bond at him, and told him he looked ridiculous with his face all smooshed against the glass._ _

__Except Sunny didn’t exactly say _smooshed_ but Sideswipe decided that’s what he meant. What Sunny actually said was Sideswipe looked like an idiot. A sentiment Ratchet apparently shared as he stormed out of his office three times to yell at Sideswipe to stop being an idiot and pressing his face against the glass. Every time Ratchet came storming back into the main room, Sideswipe relaxed a fraction, flashed him a smile and obediently parked his aft back on the medberth as requested._ _

__Shockwave never fragging yelled no matter what Sideswipe did. And Sideswipe hadn’t even bit Ratchet like he had with the purple monster of his nightmares._ _

__He tried to stay still on his front with his optics offline to block the view, but Sunny was still freaking out trying to talk to Ratchet and not mess up, and he needed Sideswipe’s help. The noises and the smells in this room would play tricks with Sideswipe’s racing thoughts and spark, and he started to relive feelings and flashes of memories from Shockwave’s lab._ _

__It was never long before Sideswipe jumped off the medberth to remind himself he wasn’t strapped down, and by the time Sideswipe was crouching under the mirror and making his servos fight and bite each other for Sunny to see, his persistence paid off._ _

__Sunny was kicked out of the office with a huff and a scowl in both of their directions from Ratchet, they were ordered to recharge to allow their self repair to help settle their new systems, after they filled out their repair history. Sending a ping pattern of victory to Sunstreaker over their bond, Sideswipe hopped back onto his medberth and loudly feigned recharge on his front._ _

__Apparently Ratchet was less than thrilled with Sunstreaker’s repeated answers of “I don’t talk about my life without Sideswipe,” and “I didn’t get upgraded to my adult frame until too late, it damaged my spark.” Ratchet had been rude and kept asking about Sunstreaker’s spark when sparks were private. Now Sunny was coiled tight and he kept trying to go quiet and still along their bond so Sideswipe assured his Sunny that his spark was the most beautiful spark that could ever be, and frag Ratchet if he thought otherwise._ _

__Handing them both forms to fill out with their medial history and storming back into his office, Sideswipe tossed his to Sunstreaker to fill out for him and pulled out his scraplet tooth to continue carving on his medberth. While he had been waiting for Sunny to online to flee the Medbay with him the first time, he had carved a drawing of Ratchet smacking Sunstreaker on the helm._ _

__His scraplet tooth was from the time Sideswipe had the genius plan of trying to train a cute little muncher he named Chiblet. Sunny had pinned the scraplet to defang it, and had only gotten two teeth removed before they had to flee from the entire vengeful nest of them. As Sunny filled out their repair history, Sideswipe carved a little picture of Chiblet. Once he finished carving his memory of little Chiblet, complete with two missing fangs, he tucked his Chiblet tooth back into his subspace and stared at the little muncher, pretending he was anywhere but in this room._ _

__Once Sunny finished the forms, he stomped over to Ratchet’s office and handed them to him then returned to his assigned medberth, laying perfectly still on his back with his optics offline. Sideswipe felt Sunny start to relax with the creepy smells and beeping sounds around him so Sideswipe began a game of Ping Pattern. As he played with Sunny where no mech could see, Sideswipe started a story in his cortex about being the first scraplet tamer of Cybertron. He imagined having a scraplet launcher he could shoot in slagging Shockwave’s creepy optic, and laugh as his army of Chiblets munched on the monsters frame._ _

__As he imagined this room no longer existed he pretended he could hear Shockwave scream while Sunny sang in his spark, and Sideswipe soothed himself into a short recharge as he hummed his Rust Slug song._ _

__Jolting awake and disoriented with his spark racing, the smells and hum of machinery assaulted his processor first, and he was off the medberth and out the door before Sunny could react and stop him._ _

__By the time they were dismissed from the Medbay the following cycle. Sideswipe had drawn four more scraplets on the medberth he was assigned, Ratchet had dragged him back into the Medbay three times, and Sunstreaker found him once in a supply closet._ _

__There he had been wrapped in a ball, shaking, and compulsively activating and deactivating his spark lock to ensure it still worked as he sang his Rust Slug song._ _

__Sunny promised him he’d help him paint the Medbay orange, even if it turned out it was against the rules._ _

__…………………_ _

__Their next evaluation turned out to be even more talking and Sideswipe was convinced there was something wrong with the Autobots._ _

__Talking was a special talent of Sideswipe’s but he was still on edge from the creepy Medbay. Still, this was his domain and he was resolved to talk enough for the both of them._ _

__They were told they were doing something called a psychological evaluation - even Sunny didn’t know what kind of test that was - but once they discovered they were about to be split up and asked questions, Sideswipe jumped to go first._ _

__Creating a quick plan over their bond, Sideswipe’s goal was to learn all the questions so he could help Sunstreaker not weird the little ‘Bot out too much. And if the questioned involved something technical, well Sunny would help Sideswipe out over their bond._ _

__The story of their lives stated they were Pit pals - thanks to Jazz for that term - and unlike in the Pits and the Decepticons, Sideswipe wanted them to be placed together for battle. He didn’t want Sunstreaker drifting away from him again, and certainly not trying to walk toward fragging Shockwave if they ever saw the monster again._ _

__What would have happened at that rally if Sideswipe hadn’t noticed Sunny shutting him out in time? No. Sideswipe couldn’t take the risk, he refused to lose his Sunny._ _

__Promising Sunny three times over their bond that Sideswipe was well armed and the little ‘Bot’s field felt friendly, Sunstreaker conceded he didn’t look like a threat, and finally retreated to play Ping Pattern with Sideswipe as he was left alone in another room._ _

__Sunny had already complained when - what was his name, Ring? Ding? Rang…something to do with a bell -_ _

__//Sunny what’s his name again?//_ _

__Right, Rung._ _

__When Rung greeted them Sunny groaned over their bond and complained he couldn’t see his optics. Sideswipe could feel Sunny now, clinging close to their bond and their game because he was left alone. He was pacing, because Sideswipe warned him not to go hide in a corner, and Sunny hated being alone. Shockwave had left him alone for fragging Unacceptable behaviour and now Sunny felt guilty for no reason._ _

__Sideswipe figured after around twenty breems, he’d gotten a handle on the questions, since they were easily answered with the stories of their lives, and he interrupted the spindly orangish ‘Bot he was suppose to talk to. Derailing the questions and apparent interest the Autobot had about his life, Sideswipe pointed behind the ‘Bot at a grid of shelves and made an observation._ _

__“You have a lot of thingies.”_ _

__The funny orange ‘Bot turned to look where Sideswipe was pointing._ _

__“Those are my model spaceships.” Sideswipe’s spark began to race at Rung’s response._ _

__“Why do you have so many?” He asked politely._ _

__“I served on each one of those ships.”_ _

__Sideswipe felt his optics go huge as he looked from Rung to those tiny _spaceships_._ _

__//What’s he asking? You are practically vibrating.// Sunny had been interrupting Sideswipe’s stories periodically, but this! This was too good._ _

__This skinny Autobot that looked like Sideswipe could knock down with a flick of his digits could shrink down and fit into those? And fly to _space_?!_ _

__//He’s been to _space_ Sunny! He shrinks down and flies these tiny spaceships he keeps in his office!//_ _

__//That’s - actually pretty interesting.// And Sideswipe felt focused interest bloom across their bond through Sunstreaker’s underlying nervousness._ _

__//No, Sunny. Don’t come in here and stare at the poor ‘Bot and try to figure out where he keeps his shrinkie component.//_ _

__“Sideswipe it sounds as if you have a lot of fond memories of Vos.”_ _

__//You are _not_ calling it a shrinkie component!//_ _

__//Am too. I discovered it, I get to name it. And you’ll have to use it.//_ _

__“Sideswipe? Did you hear me?”_ _

__//Sorry Sunny, have to concentrate.//_ _

__Sideswipe sat up straight and moved from the couch he had commandeered when Rung asked him to make himself comfortable, to a different chair._ _

__“What was your favourite part?” He asked as he picked up the chair to set it closer in front of Rung._ _

__“My favourite part of what exactly?” Rung asked._ _

__So far Sideswipe had observed this little guy was patient, friendly, liked to chat and seemed so interested in Sideswipe’s stories he looked like he might be writing them down. Well now Sideswipe had a chance to get _new_ stories._ _

__“Of space! You said you go to space, well what do you like best, do you have any good stories? A shuttle mech friend of mine told me a lot about space barnacles. You ever seen any of those? Have you been to Luna 2?” Shuffling his new chair closer he leaned in intently toward Rung. He didn’t want to miss a thing._ _

__“You are - very enthusiastic about space.”_ _

__“Psh. Who isn’t? Even Sunny likes space.”_ _

__“And Sunny does not norma-“_ _

__“Don’t call him Sunny. Only I call him Sunny. He’ll sulk if you call him Sunny.” Sideswipe was still waiting for stories about space and his reprimand for someone else trying to use his nickname for Sunny wasn’t _that_ harsh. But the next question from the little ‘Bot brought him up short and made his spark clench._ _

__“What would you like me to call him then?”_ _

__It was an innocent question. It had to be, because the little space-shrink mech had greeted both of them outside his office. He _knew_ Sunstreaker’s name. Why would he ask a question like that? Did he know Sunny use to go by another name? _ _

__Sideswipe resisted narrowing his optics at the ‘Bot and instead leaned back on his chair while flashing him a reassuring smile as he nudged at his field._ _

__“Sunstreaker. Obviously.”_ _

__“Obviously, of course.” Sideswipe narrowed his optics as the little ‘Bot wrote something down, but Sideswipe wasn’t telling a story right now. What was he writing?_ _

__“So can you tell me about -”_ _

__“Wait!” Sideswipe interrupted and leaned forward close to the little Autobot. “You didn’t answer my question. What was it like in space, I mean, you have to be a pretty hardcore little mech to do what you do right?”_ _

__The orangey-red ‘Bot’s eyebrows arched high. “I must admit Sideswipe, that is not a description I have ever heard applied to me before.”_ _

__“Seriously? With your skills? You have to have been on the best adventures in those ships!”_ _

__//What’s he asking now?//_ _

__//We’re still talking about his space ships. You have to see the size of his tiny ships. Mech’s got bearings, I mean compared to my shuttle friend, he’d probably be able to squish him between digits when he turns into his space-shrink alt mode, how does he not get eaten by alien space monsters?//_ _

__//Must be too small to be noticed.// Sunstreaker mused._ _

__“You seem to be very fond of adventures.”_ _

__“Oh yea, I’ve been on gigaloads but never any in space, I want to hear about yours! How about -“ he pointed at one with a shape he liked, “that ship. Where did you go in that?”_ _

__Rung turned around and looked at the ship Sideswipe was pointing at then turned back to Sideswipe considering._ _

__“If you promise to be careful, would you like to hold one of my ships while we talk?”_ _

__“Yes!” The offer was hardly made before Sideswipe responded with glee and vaulted himself over Rung’s desk to get in behind and closer to those real, live, SPACESHIPS!_ _

__Ghosting his digits over all of them, he found himself unexpectedly overwhelmed with choice and _permission_. Mechs rarely allowed Sideswipe to touch the thingies he wanted, normally he’d just take or push or flick until he was yelled at, then run away with the object of his attention - or come back for it later._ _

__He turned back to Rung and flit his field around his uncertainly as he remembered Carrier’s instructions on manners._ _

__“May I hold two?”_ _

__“Is there a reason you would like to hold two?” Rung asked in response._ _

__“I can’t take one away from the rest of his friends. He’ll be lonely.” Sideswipe felt compelled to explain. This was important to him. The ships were stacked in individual display shelves and the thought of only one empty space as Sideswipe took only one away made his spark twist uncomfortably in a way he couldn’t explain._ _

__“You are aware my spaceships are models and are not sentient correct?”_ _

__“Pft. Obviously.” Sideswipe agreed and he decided that counted as permission._ _

__Drifting his digits over the spaceships again while playing Ping Pattern with Sunny, he chose two that looked similar and he thought might be able to fit his little wire mechs inside. Maybe someday he could ask Rung if he could take his shuttle mech friend back to see space with him._ _

__Sideswipe’s spark sank. No, he couldn’t. Then mechs would start asking questions where Sideswipe’s friends came from._ _

__//What’s wrong?//_ _

__//Nothing Sunny. Just thinking.//_ _

__A field extended out comfortingly toward Sideswipe in invitation to mingle, and he darted his away, keeping only to the edges as he turned back to Rung with the two spaceships he held._ _

__“You better not do that with Sunny.” He warned, field flashing sharp as he glared._ _

__“Do what exactly?” Rung asked._ _

__“Try to mingle fields. Sunny doesn’t like fields touching him. You’ll frag him off.” Spark clenching again, a memory file surfaced of Shockwave touching down the side of Sunny’s face in Sideswipe’s place after a merge._ _

__//Sideswipe?// Sunny asked while radiating concern, agitation, and underlying guilt from being left alone._ _

__Fragging creepy Medbay making Sideswipe think about Shockwave touching his Sunny._ _

__//I got this Sunny. I’m fine.// Sideswipe sent a ping he liked to call a love ball toward his Sunny. That love ball was seeped in reassurance and promises. Shockwave could never had Sideswipe’s Sunny back._ _

__Rung gestured toward the chairs. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me how you and Sunstreaker met.”_ _

__Sideswipe calmed his agitated field and smiled softly as he remembered how his spark had first raced at the sight of Sunny. He made his way back over to the couch and sat down while he cradled the two spaceships gently in his lap._ _

__Looking down at them he smiled and started his story._ _

__“Sunny and me, we met in the Pits. We’re Pit pals you see, we watched each other’s backplates.” He looked up at Rung and darted his field around the edges of his. “We met with a smile, and Sunny has the best laugh.”_ _

__Laying down on his back, he held the spaceships up in the air while he made whooshing noises, then continued his story of their lives. Best to cover for Sunstreaker too._ _

__“Sunny only made a few mistakes, and the Pit Bosses put him in death matches you know.”_ _

__“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance but how were those matches different from other matches?”_ _

__Spaceships held aloft, Sideswipe looked off to the side at the little mech. "You ever seen a match?”_ _

__"I have not.”_ _

__“Aw, you missed out.” Sideswipe looked back up at the spaceships with a grin as he remembered the crowd’s laughter and cheers. “The crowds loved me. Slag even my opponents loved me sometimes, you ever seen a mech laugh after you cut off their arm?” Sideswipe shuttered an optic at Rung. “That’s a talent of mine.”_ _

__“I am certain it was quite a sight, what types of matches did you fight?”_ _

__“Point matches.” Sideswipe shrugged indifferently as his spaceships chased each other through and imaginary astroid field._ _

__“And the difference between a point match and a death match is what?”_ _

__“What it sounds like.” He answered distractedly as he told Sunny a story about the two of them flying spaceships to fight one optic space monsters that sucked worlds into their gaping dark maws. “Who ever gets to most points wins. And a death match can end in a draw then they have to go by points.”_ _

__“How did you get points?”_ _

__“By getting points!” Sideswipe huffed. This little ‘Bot was getting in they way of his story he was making up to Sunny and he sat up, leaning forward. “Look, the Pits were a long time ago. I would like to hear about your adventures.”_ _

__“We are here to talk about you.”_ _

__“Ugh!” Sideswipe flopped back down on the couch with a deflated ventilation and started to drive the spaceships around again while he soothed Sunny’s agitation with stories. “That’s normally one of my favourite topics little mech but you’re holding out on me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I’m not telling you any more of my adventure stories until you tell me one of yours.”_ _

__“How about sharing what you did when you weren't in the ring?"_ _

__"Partied mostly. Told stories, laughed, drank hi-grade, danced, fragged some friends and patrons." He shrugged. "Normal stuff.”_ _

__“And is that how you and Sunstreaker met? At parties?”_ _

__Sideswipe laughed imagining Sunstreaker at one of the parties in the Pits, music thumping, engines running hot, dancing, grinding and writhing against the frames of others. Laughing, shouting, fighting and drinking enough hi-grade to black out._ _

__His spark ached. Primus he wished he could have danced with Sunny._ _

__“Sunny’s not much for parties, he likes quiet. Keeps to himself mostly.” Looking over at Rung he flicked out his field and smiled. “You ‘Bots will see. Sunny’s great. He tries really hard and he’s really smart.”_ _

__The little mech took some more notes and Sideswipe smiled at him while internally he glared as a thought occurred to him._ _

__Shockwave took notes before Sideswipe met Sunny. The monster would strap Sideswipe down in the large room with some of his screaming neighbors and attach him to a spark rate monitor and - was Sideswipe being _studied_ right now?_ _

__With that thought in mind Sideswipe spent the rest of his assessment sitting up and holding mock battles with the two spaceships he was holding, and deflecting every one of Rung’s questions with ones of his own about space._ _

__When Rung told him their session was done Sideswipe put the spaceships back on their shelves though he ached to tuck them into his subspace for safe keeping. The thought of those two empty spaces, and the spaceships being taken from their neighbours stopped him._ _

__That wouldn’t be fair to them._ _

__As he turned to leave out the door, he considered the hardcore little space-shrink mech who had been taking notes even when Sideswipe wasn’t telling an interesting story. Servo paused over the door panel, Sideswipe stopped and stared straight at the spot through the door where he knew Sunny was standing waiting for him._ _

__Sunny was so scared and nervous along their bond right now, and he already felt guilty that he had done something fragging Unacceptable while left alone these two joors. He was locking himself up, predicting all the ways he thought he was going to mess up this social interaction once he found out the questions were about the stories of their lives and not technical._ _

__His Sunny was a horrible liar._ _

__“Hey, uh Rung?” Sideswipe turned to look down at the little mech beside him holding his datapad._ _

__“Yes, Sideswipe?”_ _

__Sideswipe didn’t respond immediately, first he reached toward Sunny and bolstered their bond with confidence. He wouldn’t let this little space-shrink mech, no matter how hard core, manipulate his Sunny where Sideswipe couldn’t see._ _

__“Is there something else you wish to add Sideswipe?”_ _

__Sideswipe nodded as he dropped his servo from the door panel looked intently at the little mech. “You know that battle over satellites where you Autobots seem to think Sunny’s some kind of butcher?”_ _

__“The Battle of Polyhex?”_ _

__“Yea that one. Just…don’t call Sunny names like that okay? He’s not a berserker or a butcher or whatever you Autobots think. Sunny’s really smart and he’s really funny, but he’s really private and no one ever gives him a chance. You said when I first came in here that you were here to listen. Well with Sunny, you just need to know how to listen right. And you seem like a really nice little hardcore ‘Bot and everything, but there’s something you’ve gotta know about Sunny before you meet with him.”_ _

__“Whatever you tell me Sideswipe. I remind you, it’s confidential.”_ _

__Smiling at the tiny Autobot, Sideswipe leaned in close so he could whisper in Rung’s audial._ _

__“Keep your skeevy field and servos off him.” He hissed._ _

__Rung startled back at Sideswipe’s sudden flare in his field._ _

__“Sideswipe I would never -“_ _

__Sideswipe grinned as he cut Rung off with a friendly pat on the shoulder and he sent a ping pattern of victory to Sunny when the little mech flinched a bit._ _

__“Like I said. You seem like a nice little ‘Bot and I’m certain it’s not going to be a problem. But the thing is, in the Pits and with the Decepticons, sometimes the nicest little guys were into the weirdest slag.”_ _

__He gave one final not-quite too rough of a squeeze on the space-shrink’s shoulder._ _

__“And I’ll be right outside.” Smiling wide, he flit his field around the edges of Rung’s own all friendly. “Waiting for Sunny of course.”_ _

__Palming open the door, Sideswipe smiled to see Sunny right there waiting for him where he knew he was, right smack in the center of the doorway. Sunny was coiled so tight about coming in here to talk to the little guy, Sideswipe turned in a circle and reassured him all his bits were still in place._ _

__As he squirmed by Sunny who refused to move from the center of the doorway, Sideswipe brushed his digit tip across the back of Sunny’s clenched and nervous fists._ _

__//Remember to _smile_ Sunny, and try not to be too quiet hey? Harmless remember? These mechs have soft sparks. And I’m not only right outside, I’m with you in your spark and I’ll help you out. Together, as one, we’re unstoppable.//_ _

__Sprawling on a chair as he waited, Sunny needed a little extra encouragement to enter the room with the space-shrink 'Bot. Sideswipe pinged him a little love ball and took out the pictures they drew together as one in Vos. While he flipped through them on the old salvaged data pad, Sideswipe helped Sunny over their bond to not weird the little Autobot out too much. But even with Sideswipe over the bond prompting him, getting Sunny to speak was hard._ _

__Sideswipe wanted to trust the little hardcore space shrink ‘Bot alone with his Sunny._ _

__He really did._ _

__A flash of a memory of Shockwave touching down the side of Creation’s faceplate in Sideswipe’s place after their first spark merge and countless times afterward assaulted his cortex and twisted his tanks. Creation had melted into and nuzzled that servo desperately._ _

__And Sideswipe was left strapped to the berth screaming and frothing that Creation was his and not to touch him._ _

__Every time._ _

__Shaking his helm he reset his optics and his servos clenched on the precious drawings they had made together._ _

__And in this empty room, Sideswipe lashed his field out wildly possessive in all directions._ _

__No._ _

__Sideswipe didn’t trust anyone, even a seemingly friendly space-shrink that probably has some great adventures to tell, to be alone where Sideswipe couldn’t see and touching his Sunny._ _

__Everything in his spark would scream it was wrong._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe is getting really frustrated with the Autobots not leaving them alone after the Medbay and not just letting him do things his way.
> 
> Sideswipe was severely affected by the circumstances of how the bond between himself and Sunstreaker was formed as well the circumstances of his Carrier's death, and his neighbours. He's definitely not unaffected, but if given the choice he'll deny he has any problems. He wants to keep moving, keep exploring, keep distracted and keep focusing on his Sunny while never thinking about Shockwave beyond his revenge ever again.
> 
> And while searching for sea shanties because LATER!REASONS I stumbled upon a song perfect for Sideswipe of this AU. [When I'm Up - Great Big Sea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuiwZaQ5JFk)
> 
> Next POV is Rung. I had to split this up because it grew and grew. Our boys have trauma, and not everything is uncovered ever in a single psychotherapy assessment. Don't expect miracles.


	19. Space Shrink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a therapist, or a psychologist but I did draw on a lot of my first hand experience with attending trauma counseling and CBT. This chapter was extremely emotionally draining for me and I kept running away from it and distracting myself with other thingies.
> 
> That said, hopefully I got Rung in character well enough. It's incredibly stressful attempting to write a psychotherapist putting pieces together while holding onto plot. 
> 
> And Rung's good at what he does.

Sunstreaker was a direct contrast to his alleged conjunx, Sideswipe. 

When Sideswipe had entered Rung’s office he had lit up the room with his personality. As soon as Rung asked him to chose a seat he darted over to his couch and sprawled on it a picture perfect pose of confidence and ease.

Rung had given up attempting to lead the entirety of Sideswipe’s discussion and instead settled in to observe to see where Sideswipe would lead him with occasional nudges in certain directions. It was strange to have a mech seem so intently interested in Rung, he was normally dismissed as boring yet for some reason Sideswipe thought being a psychotherapist assigned to different spaceships was a thrilling position.

And while there were definitely times when Rung’s sessions became more spark racing with some of his more volatile patients than he would prefer, no one had _ever_ described Rung as “hardcore.” Until today.

Sideswipe was incredibly open, inquisitive, and extremely distractible - but at the same time, he wasn’t. 

He talked almost non-stop their entire two joors together about tales of his adventures.

Except stories about his past contained impossible historical continuity. Claiming to be in one city with a friend, then another shortly after with Sunstreaker, and elaborate details of events that took place after some of the cities had been destroyed.

Bragging about being a pirate in Tarn with Sunstreaker as his first mate, he claimed he eventually had to get out of the weaponization of scraplets business when his scraplets mutinied - except the weapons factories and mines of Tarn had already been mostly destroyed and abandoned by then.

The strangest observation though, Rung swore there was an element of truth in all his adventures. 

The cheery red mech claimed to be from no where and everywhere, traveling with his carrier throughout his younglinghood, though he seemed to have a particular emotional connection to both Vos and Praxus. Yet his frame was clearly Kaonite in design.

There were some definite preliminary concerning observations, like Sideswipe’s description of his activities outside of the ring as “normal,” and the normalization of fighting mechs for sport. Rung had made a minor note to observe his habits around hi-grade but Sideswipe would hardly be the first Autobot with a tendency to self medicate by overcharging his systems and losing himself in distractions. 

Most concerning however was his sudden unprompted threat regarding touching Sunstreaker, physically or with his field, twice during the assessment. Rung suspected that stemmed from personal negative experience of interfacing with the mechs that frequented the Pits as a brothel, for either himself or Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe was a strange combination of factors Rung had never encountered and he couldn’t quiet nail down what particularly was bothering him about Sideswipe.

There was some piece he was missing, and it had a central trigger point around Sunstreaker.

His bizarre habit of field flicking and skimming was something Rung had never encountered. Sideswipe’s field would flick around almost constantly, encouraging and inviting then darting away as if distracted. Normally strange field habits had roots in experiencing field trauma as a youngling, yet normally a youngling would cling to the closest friendly field they felt afterward and refuse to let go. 

Occasionally Sideswipe would randomly flare his field sharp and hard for seemingly no determinable reason, and Rung could not figure out if he was doing it on purpose to be deliberately difficult to read. Rung briefly considered Sideswipe had been trained as an interrogator, a simultaneous routine of “good cop, bad cop” but the profile didn’t seem to fit.

His mood could swing wildly from friendly to threatening but every time it flared, he would make a threat regarding Sunstreaker, or tell a story painting Sunstreaker in a positive light.

Three times there had been a possessiveness within his field as he flared out as if to use his field as a weapon. Was it possible he didn’t mingle fields with others because his conjunx endura allegedly did not like EM fields touching himself?

Jazz claimed they were spooked and hiding they were bonded, and Rung had not expected it, but he had hoped Sideswipe might confide in him when he paused before he left. That final threat regarding touching Sunstreaker had been completely unprompted and unexpected, Sideswipe’s field flaring particularly sharp before he retreated it and smoothed it over. 

Potential relationship land mines and vague disjointed life history aside, overall, Sideswipe himself seemed to enthusiastically enjoy living, and did not take himself too seriously. A healthy outlook for a mech being considered for a position on the frontlines. Many Autobots on the frontlines developed a dark or gallows sense of humor as a coping mechanism and it seemed Sideswipe had already developed that from his time in the Pits. 

Rung had to admit, the red mech could be incredibly endearing with how gently he handled his model spaceships complete with sound effects. He could certainly stand to learn some impulse control, and social manners like not leaping over desks or overcrowding a mech, but Rung had certainly seen worse. 

Sunstreaker however, was like talking to a wall. 

When Sideswipe had opened his door after he was dismissed, Rung was startled to find Sunstreaker standing directly outside the door to his office, optics locked immediately onto Sideswipe. Sideswipe however looked as if he had been expecting Sunstreaker to be there.

Sideswipe smiled warmly at him, turned in a circle and said, “see Sunny? All my bits are still in place.” 

The immovable, coiled, yellow ex-gladiator that positively radiated “danger, do not touch,” visually examined Sideswipe closely as he wormed by him, out of the blocked entryway. 

A less observant Autobot would have missed how Sideswipe quickly brushed a digit across the knuckles of one of Sunstreaker’s clenched servos as he passed. Or how Sunstreaker’s tense servos relaxed a fraction at the motion.

Sideswipe sat down to wait, utterly at ease as he flung a leg over the arm of a chair and pulled a rusted datapad with a cracked screen out of his subspace on his left leg. Despite his apparent comfort he had ensured he was facing toward the door that lead to the rest of the base.

Attention still locked entirely on Sideswipe and pointedly ignoring Rung’s greeting to him, Rung stood to the side to allow Sunstreaker space and invited him in. The mech didn’t move to enter until Sideswipe verbally prompted him with a huff without looking up from his datapad. 

“It’s just two joors, Sunny. Shoo.”

Ratchet had alerted Rung that Sunstreaker was potentially violently over protective of his conjunx, along with a concerning statement the yellow mech had made. It appeared as if Sunstreaker had been guarding the door to Rung’s office the entire time Sideswipe was inside.

Sunstreaker was defiant and uncooperative from the moment he entered. Rung had a variety of chairs spread throughout his office to accommodate the comforts of various frame sizes and personal space preferences. Sideswipe had chosen one large enough to accommodate a shuttle mech when invited to chose a place most comfortable for him to being their discussion.

Sunstreaker chose none, and stood directly in the center of the room facing the chair Rung settled himself into next to his desk. 

Staring over Rung’s shoulder at the model spaceships, he remained completely silent, occasional revving his engine though the timing of it seemed disjointed and not a threat. As Rung introduced himself with an outline of their session, Sunstreaker avoided optic contact, seeming entirely disinterested in this waste of his time. Stressing to the mech that everything spoken inside this room was confidential, and Rung was here to _listen_ , he asked Sunstreaker if he had any questions.

Sunstreaker looked at him briefly before responding and gave possibly the most painfully fake smile Rung had ever seen. It looked more manic than friendly on his faceplate, the type of smile a performer who would rather be elsewhere but on stage during a performance would give. He looked away and the smile dropped as he responded.

 _No_ was the first word Sunstreaker spoke to him, or more accurately to the direction of Rung’s model spaceships. And it was turning into a theme.

“I’d like to start by you sharing something about your life in the gladiator pits.”

“No.”

“Sunstreaker would you like to tell me a little about yourself?”

“No.”

“Okay, is there anything you wish to talk about?”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Then Sunstreaker dropped his focus from Rung’s models, reached into his subspace to retrieve a polishing cloth, and began to polish his already immaculate plating with intense focus while rumbling his engine.

Continuing his attempt to prompt a response other than _no_ from Sunstreaker for the first thirty breems of their session, Rung finally suppressed an internal sigh. 

“Sunstreaker.” He stated more firmly. “I can appreciate that you are a private and reserved mech, however I do need you to give me _something_ in this session for your enlistment.”

Plating clamped tight, Sunstreaker looked up from his polishing. Judgmental sneer in place, Sunstreaker glanced towards his model spaceships, tucked his polishing cloth away and stomped around Rung’s desk.

He stood there for a moment in front of Rung’s models, and Rung’s spark clenched as he imagined the amount of repairs necessary once Sunstreaker began to crush them vindictively.

Before Rung could request for him to please not destroy his things, Sunstreaker gently selected the same two models spaceships Sideswipe had chosen, and stomped back, extending the models to Rung.

Receiving them, Sunstreaker snatched his servos away before Rung fully had a grasp on them and he was left to fumble the one in his right for a moment before he could settle them in his lap. 

Looking down at the models Sunstreaker had handed him, Rung reset his optics then looked up at the yellow mech standing before him.

“Thank you Sunstreaker.” Sunstreaker did not respond, he simply returned to his place, and stood there with his arms crossed in front of his chestplate, clamped tight.

Rung decided to wait him out and stared down at the models Sunstreaker had selected as he checked to ensure his communications scrambler Jazz had installed with Blaster was still activated. It was.

How had Sunstreaker known which two model Sideswipe had selected? Had they been set back slightly askew from the others? 

Carefully, he considered them as he checked them over for paint transfers. True to his word, Sideswipe had been incredibly gentle with them. More concerning however was Sunstreaker had taken his request to “give him something” literally.

After ten breems of silence, Sunstreaker spoke without prompting from Rung for the first time.

“Did I pass?” He asked neutrally to the wall. 

“Pass what?”

“Your test.”

“Sunstreaker this is not a test.” Rung assured him. “I am simply performing an assessment. Getting to know you better.” Sunstreaker’s optics locked on him and narrowed.

“No.”

“I understand you have been on your own for awhile, however -“

“Not alone.” Sunstreaker interrupted and his engine rumbled. “With Sideswipe.”

“Yes, I understand that.” Rung stated as he calmly oriented the model spaceships to the arms of his chair. Sunstreaker’s optics followed his movement. “I’m looking for something a little more. Where were you sparked?”

“Kaon.” That response was immediate.

“Thank you. Now in one word, sum up your early life in Kaon for me.”

One word. 

Both Ratchet and Jazz seemed convinced Sunstreaker had been born and raised, or at least a youngling in the Pits during his formative development. And for Rung, the associated implications were disturbing with possible long term effects.

One word.

After Sideswipe’s enthusiasm of the Pits, stories of the parties and hi-grade - of the normalization of fighting mechs for sport, and interfacing with patrons - with Sunstreaker’s previous obtuse belligerence Rung had expected something more along the lines of “loud, fun, exciting, thrilling” or something more violent like “painful, brutal, challenging.”

One word.

That was all it took for Rung to completely re-evaluated all his previous assumptions of the closed off mech in front of him.

“Lonely.”

Entirely professional, and not betraying his surprise, Rung continued as his spark clenched.

“I am aware there were large parties in the Pits, is that how you met Sideswipe?”

“No.”

“In a few words, explain how the two of you met.”

Sunstreaker was quiet for a moment before he answered, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smirk as he looked at Rung.

"With a smile.” 

"He smiled at you?” Rung clarified. He suspected there was much more behind this story than a simple smile, but it agreed with what Sideswipe had claimed.

"Yes."

"Did mechs often smile at you?"

Silent again. And he offered no answer, simply reached into his subspace and retrieved his polishing cloth and worked at an invisible mark on his forearm plating again.

"What did you do after Sideswipe smiled at you when you met?”

"I smiled back.” He answered to his plating.

"And what did Sideswipe do?”

The klicks of no response ticked by but Sunstreaker smirked down at his plating when he finally answered. "He laughed."

"And how did you react?"

“I was corrected.” That response had been immediate and all expression dropped from his faceplate as he flinched, clamping his plating tight. He had not meant to say that.

"Corrected by whom?"

Rung waited a full breem for Sunstreaker to respond. When he didn’t he prompted him gently again. 

"Sunstreaker who corrected you when you smiled at Sideswipe?”

His plating flared out in aggression as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Rung with his engine rumbling in warning.

"I don't talk about my life without Sideswipe." 

"I see." His servos were clenched tight into fists, one clenching his polishing cloth as he stared unnervingly hard at Rung. Immovable. Rung wouldn't get further on this line of questioning in this session. 

“When Sideswipe was at parties in the Pits, what did you do?”

He ignored the question and went back to polishing his plating. 

“What did you do for fun in the Pits, and later with the Decepticons Sunstreaker? Please give me one word.”

It seemed as if Sunstreaker’s mistake in sharing something he had not intended to had clamped him up tight and Rung waited a further breem before he prompted him again.

“Did you dance? Drink? Fight?” Kill. Not that Rung expected Sunstreaker to come right out and say it. Based on the Battle of Polyhex, and both Ironhide and Sideswipe’s insistence Sunstreaker had fought death matches, Rung wondered: was Sunstreaker the type of mech that killed for fun, thrills, or the challenge.

Sunstreaker stopped polishing and scowled down at his plating. Finally he whispered as single word softly and Rung couldn’t hear. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you. Could you repeat that for me.”

Abruptly he snapped out a blade from his right wrist and snarled at Rung as his engine roared.

"I said I fragging drew pictures!”

"Do you like to draw?” Once again Rung was reevaluating his assumptions, and this was hopefully an avenue to get the tight lipped mech to open up.

“That’s not _weird_!” Sunstreaker objected with a hard edge to his optics as he stalked forward.

“I didn’t say it was Sunstreaker.” Whether it was Rung’s calm tone or the words themselves, he didn’t know, but Sunstreaker halted and his blade snapped back. He froze as Rung stood, walked around his desk and opened a drawer. Reaching in, Rung selected an artpad and held it out to Sunstreaker. "I'd like you to draw something for me."

He didn’t move and continued to wait.

“Draw what?” He finally grumbled.

"Whatever you'd like.”

He still didn’t move to take the artpad, so Rung slid it along his desk toward him. Sunstreaker looked toward the door and put his polishing cloth away. Finally he huffed, stalked forward, snatched the artpad from the desk, and focused on Rung with a sudden unnerving intensity. Gaze roving his entire frame he simply stared at him for about five breems, then he retreated to the chair furthest from Rung, sat down and started to draw while Rung returned to his seat. 

As Sunstreaker drew, his plating finally started to relax from his frame. After a quarter of a joor a smirk started to form on his faceplate as he only made occasional glances at Rung. 

Finally he stopped looking at Rung all together and eventually started to make a strange rasping noise like his nasal ridge was clogged. It sounded threatening but what had prompted it? 

Alarmed, Rung observed for a few moments. When it continued, he asked after his welfare. “Sunstreaker, are you alright?"

The noise stopped instantly, and narrowed optics suddenly snapped to him. 

"I'm fine."

"Can you show me what you drew?" Sunstreaker looked down at the artpad while his servos clenched hard on it. 

“It’s not completed.”

"I would very much like to see what you’ve gotten so far.” Sunstreaker’s faceplate went frighteningly blank as he stood and set the artpad on Rung’s desk within his reach and returned to his place in the center of the room.

As soon as Rung’s digits touched the pad, Sunstreaker clamped his plating tight as if bracing for a blow.

Not allowing his hesitation to show, Rung internally brace himself. He didn't have the tanks for violence and he imagined it was possible what was on this pad was quite gruesome. Turning the datapad over, Rung's vocalizer clogged in his intake. 

The drawing was bizarre and not at all what he would have predicted Sunstreaker might draw. 

On the datapad were perfect replicas of the model spaceships Sunstreaker had retrieved and handed him. They were still sitting on the arms of Rung's chair. Rung knew ever section of these models from the countless number of times he had needed to repair them. Still, he held one up and compared it from he angle of view Sunstreaker had, and he had missed no detail. 

And in the window of the ship was a tiny replica Rung, also incredibly detailed. The other ship was half finished but a tiny replica of Sideswipe was inside and completed. The ships were firing at a large and indistinct looming monster, also partly completed with a plenty of teeth and a solitary red optic.

"Sunstreaker. You are quite talented."

Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chestplate and looked at the door then back at Rung. 

“It’s not finished.” And that seemed to really bother him. Sunstreaker it seemed, was a perfectionist. 

"Could you explain to me why you drew me and Sideswipe in a spaceships fighting a monster?"

"Sideswipe will like it.” He justified. Then, quite unexpectedly, Sunstreaker motioned to all Rung’s model spaceships and deadpanned, “Plus, you’re a space shrink." 

Rung was struck speechless for a moment. A pun. Had he drawn this specifically in order to make that pun? It was quite clever, and once again completely - that noise he had made while he was drawing. 

Snippets of Sideswipe’s session flit through Rung’s processor.

_You ‘Bots will see. Sunny’s great. He tries really hard and he’s really smart._

_Sunny’s really smart and he’s really funny, but he’s really private and no one ever gives him a chance…Well with Sunny, you just need to know how to listen right._

_We met with a smile, and Sunny has the best laugh._

“Sunstreaker this is very clever.” Primus. That clogged nasal ridge noise that sounded threatening had been Sunstreaker’s laugh. He'd been laughing to himself at his drawing. Why had he developed -

_Lonely._

Rung placed the artpad on the desk for Sunstreaker again.

"I'd like you to draw me a picture of you and Sideswipe."

Optics narrowed. ”What are the param- I mean, what would you like me to draw us doing?”

What an odd abrupt change of phrasing. Why did it seem Sunstreaker deliberately hid his vocabulary? Had he socially isolated himself in the past by academically elevating his speech above others he interacted with causing himself to be excluded?

_It’s not completed._

_I was corrected._

_Lonely._

A pit was starting to form in Rung’s fuel tanks as a disturbing profile came to mind.

“Simply draw the two of you, however that means to you.“

“Just a drawing of Sideswipe and I?” Sunstreaker clarified.

“Yes please.”

Sunstreaker drew for approximately six breems before he stood up, placed the artpad back on the desk and went to leave the room. 

“Sunstreaker where are you going?”

He stopped and looked back to Rung. Crossing his arms he huffed as if it were obvious. “The second joor is up.”

“I am extending your session. Please. Sit and finish your drawing.”

Sunstreaker looked at the door then back at Rung, clearly irritated. “You stated this assessment would take two joors. It has been precisely two joors and now twenty-three klicks since you began this session.”

“Sunstreaker have you been watching your chronometer or did you set a notification?” 

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics and his engine revved. “How much longer?”

“However long it takes for you to complete your drawing.”

“I estimate I will be completed in thirty-two breems. Is that acceptable?” He bit out shortly and his engine revved.

“There is no time limit Sunstreaker.” Rung assured. Sunstreaker wasn’t simply a perfectionist, he was hyper-vigilant with a running clock.

“I will be completed in thirty-two breems.” He stated as he snatched back the artpad and Rung began to time him, curious if he would actually be completed in precisely thirty-two breems. 

He stopped drawing at thirty breems and eight klicks. But he waited until precisely thirty-two breems had past before he placed the artpad back on the desk for Rung and loomed.

The picture he drew of Sideswipe was an incredibly detailed static technical drawing, though Rung noticed he was smiling and waving. The drawing of himself was a similar technical drawing except he had drawn himself with a blade extended and sharp digits on his left servo. 

More telling was the positioning of the optics. Sideswipe was staring out and smiling at the viewer. The image of Sunstreaker was perspectively smaller, as if standing behind Sideswipe a few lengths. His optics were staring at Sideswipe.

“Thank you Sunstreaker. Your attention to detail is impeccable.” Sunstreaker puffed up his plating a fraction at the praise.

“Are we done?” Sunstreaker asked but he was staring at the artpad as Rung set it on his desk and the yellow mech's digits twitched. Rung paused as he looked the artpad, then considered Sunstreaker’s posture. 

“Would you like to finish your drawing of Sideswipe and I in the spaceships?”

“It is not completed.” And clearly that was agitating Sunstreaker.

Rung picked up the artpad as he stood and extended it to Sunstreaker who didn’t move to take it.

“I would like you to complete it, and a drawing of your choice to show me for our next session. A drawing _you like_ Sunstreaker, not what you think Sideswipe would like.”

Sunstreaker looked at the artpad, digits twitching, before his plating suddenly clamped tight as he balled his servos into fists, and glared at Rung.

“Did I fail?”

“No Sunstreaker. You can’t fail in here. I told you this was only an assessment, and I would like to schedule you for further sessions.” 

The glare intensified and he crossed his arms over his chestplate. “If I didn't fail, why do I need to fragging come back?”

Rung reached out toward Sunstreaker, to place a reassuring servo on his forearm plating and -

Sunstreaker recoiled, engine revving to a roar, his blade snapping out of his wrist as he rotated and slammed Rung against the wall, stabbing right next to his helm.

“Frag off and suck on a rusted spike.” He growled as his optics flashed hard.

Pinned against the wall by the so called Butcher of Polyhex, spark racing, Rung tested his disturbing profile regarding Sunstreaker.

“Sunstreaker, this is not an appropriate response to an unwanted touch. Release me.”

Sunstreaker immediately released him. Just as Rung suspected he would, but he felt absolutely no vindication to have his suspicions confirmed. 

“Who instructed you to react like that when touched Sunstreaker?”

Glaring at him, Sunstreaker looked toward the closed door, or more accurately, it appeared he was looking through the closed door.

“Did Sideswipe tell you to lash out at any mech that touched you?”

Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest plate and snarled, “keep your skeevy field and servos off me.”

Word for word. 

Sunstreaker had been coached - no - _conditioned_ by a handler at a young age. 

Abused. Isolated.

Most likely with exclusive strict interactions with only a few approved mechs. The Pit Bosses of Kaon had _trained_ him. No wonder he was so defensive of Sideswipe, possibly the first mech to ever smile at him. 

Primus. Did he have words that triggered him? Had Megatron used them on the battle field at Polyhex? Was that why they had left the Decepticons and held out as Neutrals so long? Was Sunstreaker's handler a Decepticon? Was that why Sideswipe was so paranoid of any mech getting close to Sunstreaker?

“In the future Sunstreaker, I would like for you to tell me to stop if I approach too close to you and make you uncomfortable. I will listen to you. Can you do that?”

Looking toward the door again - as if looking for Sideswipe’s _permission_ , he didn’t respond. Servoes clenched into fists as he glanced longingly down at the artpad in Rung’s servo. Rung extended it again toward him slowly, ensuring his actions were predictable. 

Sunstreaker’s attention was locked to his every movement.

“You can keep this artpad to use for our sessions, or to draw whatever you wish. I only request that you share with me the ones you wish. You choose what you keep private.”

“But I -“ Sunstreaker looked at the hole he had stabbed into Rung’s wall and shrunk in on himself. The damage to Rung’s office was minor compared to the time Red Alert tried to blow him up as a spy, or the few times Whirl would be on base between missions.

“Sunstreaker, I’m giving this artpad for you to keep. A gift. No conditions. I simply thought you might enjoy finishing the picture of Sideswipe and I in the spaceships you started but were unable to finish, and drawing one of your own. I enjoy your art Sunstreaker, I would like to see more from you.”

A tentative servo extended toward the artpad, and before his digits touched it, his cooling fans clicked on startling himself. Pulling his servo back he looked at Rung with the most unguarded expression he had shown this entire session. 

Rung had never seen a patient look so entirely lost and confused. 

From Sunstreaker’s perspective, Rung was rewarding him for inappropriate behaviours. He expected everything he was given to have conditions, to be earned. Most likely for a perfect performance. Primus that fake smile he had first flashed toward Rung, had they made him smile like that while he fought?

Rung extending his field slowly out toward Sunstreaker’s, attempting to draw his out. He was clamped tighter than Prowl ever was. When he received no response, Rung true to his word, respected Sunstreaker’s space. It was best to end this session on a higher note, not have Sunstreaker associate Rung with frustration or failure.

“You enjoy drawing in your free time. Am I correct?” Rung confirmed.

Sunstreaker scowled. “That’s not weird.” He repeated again as he clamped tight and balled his servos into fists.

Keeping the art pad extended Rung considered Sunstreaker as the mech glared at him.

“You are right. It’s not weird.” Rung confirmed. Who had told Sunstreaker his interest in drawing, which obviously relaxed him and he enjoyed, was weird? 

Spark clenching tight, Primus. He hoped it wasn’t Sideswipe. 

Cautiously Sunstreaker extended his servo again, optics locked on Rung staring intently for any twitch or movement of plating, as if he were expecting Rung to take it away and laugh at him. As soon as Sunstreaker touched the artpad, it was snatched out of Rung’s own servo and clutched tight to Sunstreaker’s chestplate.

There was a whisper. So soft Rung almost didn’t hear it and he wasn’t certain if it had been meant for his audials: “Sunstreaker’s an artist.”

Despite his patient’s sudden alarming switch to third person when speaking of his identity as an artist, Rung smiled softly at him.

“That you are. And a very talented one at that. I understand you will be quite busy over the next few cycles, but I would like for you to message me when you get your schedule. You can use the time in our sessions to draw what you wish and we will discuss them. There is no judgement here in this room Sunstreaker.”

Shooting him a suspicious glare, Sunstreaker turned to leave. 

“And please remember to use your words if you are uncomfortable around another mech before using your blade.”

“But I’m always uncomfortable.” He muttered as he pressed the door panel and opened the door without a glance back toward Rung, optics locked instantly on Sideswipe. 

As soon as he was out the door Sideswipe was at his side, he glanced at the artpad held close to Sunstreaker’s chestplate and glared at Rung. 

“That took longer than two joors.”

“I was drawing.” Sunstreaker explained.

And Sideswipe didn’t even have to ask. Sunstreaker immediately showed what he had drawn to Sideswipe, tense until Sideswipe smiled and laughed at the drawing of himself and Rung in the spaceships.

“He’s so cute tiny! Look, at his tiny eyebrows! I love it Sunny.”

Rung was surprised to see Prowl standing in the waiting room with Bluestreak. Bluestreak’s attention was focused raptly on the new recruits, Prowl was scrolling through a datapad pretending to appear relaxed.

Rung watched, his presence forgotten in his own waiting room as Sunstreaker showed Sideswipe the drawing he had made, at Rung’s request, of himself and Sideswipe. A wrinkled nasal ridge was all it took before Sunstreaker deleted it. 

Prowl approached the recruits with two datapads in his servos and handed them to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Informing them the datapads contained the Autobot Code and they were to make themselves familiar with it before their lesson tomorrow with Ultra Magnus. He motioned to Bluestreak, who waved enthusiastically, and instructed them he had volunteered to show them to their bunks in the barracks. 

Sunstreaker instantly onlined his datapad, and Sideswipe impassively flicked his on, tabbed through a few pages, squinted at it, then shoved it in his subspace. Waving excitedly at Bluestreak, he looped an arm around him and asked if there was a place for Sunstreaker to do his mobility routine. 

They left with Sunstreaker trailing behind at a stomp, focused intently on reading the Autobot code. He navigated his way out of the room without looking up or greeting Bluestreak. 

Considering Sunstreaker had barely said a word their entire session, Rung had learned more concerning behaviours about Sideswipe through him than the entire session when Sideswipe had chattered away at Rung about adventures and spaceships.

Sunstreaker had little to no self confidence, became confused when offered options with no right or wrong answer, and defined his self worth completely through Sideswipe's approval. 

More concerning, it appeared he had in a way, replaced one handler for another. Gone as far as _bonding_ himself to a new handler. Sideswipe was certainly as possessive of Sunstreaker as Sunstreaker was protective of him.

Problem was, Rung could not determine if Sideswipe was purposefully manipulating Sunstreaker or not.

He needed to have Sunstreaker come out from Sideswipe's shadow slowly to build his confidence or they would both clamp down and retreat. And Rung would definitely recommend Sunstreaker did not see combat. There was a very real concern there were certain words or phrases that he was conditioned to follow, and that Megatron might know them.

Rung could not in good conscience recommend they be assigned together. Sunstreaker would take orders from Sideswipe before all else. They were a potential time bomb waiting to explode once Sunstreaker started to assert his own wishes and desires between them. 

Sideswipe was either controlling him - and it was possible he thought that was _normal_ , or he was coddling him. 

Either way, Sunstreaker needed opportunities to build his confidence in an environment away from Sideswipe.

Being placed under Ratchet’s command would be good for Sunstreaker.

Prowl remained behind. When Rung met his gaze, Prowl cleared his vocalizer before he spoke. "I understand it is short notice but I have a sudden clearing in my schedule. Do you have time to fit me in?"

“Prowl. I’m glad you have finally decided to come and discuss -“

Prowl held up his servo. “I am concerned about Bluestreak.”

“You know what passes in my office is confidential Prowl. Unless you desire a joint session together with Bluestreak -“

“I am aware.” Prowl interrupted. “I am having - difficulty placing Bluestreak in danger and viewing him as an adult mech. Jazz complains I am over protective. I am hoping you could help me come up with an acceptable solution.”

Of course he was here for Bluestreak. Prowl was insistent and supportive of Bluestreak’s therapy but willfully neglected his own. 

But Rung could not force a patient to work through their problems, he was only here to guide and offer non-judgmental advice, as well as healthy coping strategies. The real lasting work was done by his patients own will and following the plans he designed for them. At times, confronting ones own cognitive dissidence could be physically painful. A lot of mechs simply shied away from the discomfort, justifying their choices in whatever way caused the least pain.

And as the war stretched on, they all had their problems - and their coping mechanisms.

For both good and bad, Prowl’s coping mechanism was Bluestreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker gets to do art therapy!
> 
> Obviously Sideswipe was the peanut gallery along the bond the entire time Sunstreaker was in the room. He didn't want Sunstreaker to draw a picture of where he thought Rung's internals might be, so he was helping Sunstreaker draw a picture of Rung in his "space shrink alt mode" and making Sunstreaker laugh. Sunstreaker laughs mostly along their bond, like with most things, it's the primary way he's learned to communicate his emotions to someone, and Sideswipe knows what Sunstreaker means even if it conflicts with his facial expressions sometimes.
> 
> From an outside perspective however, thinking of them as conjunx endura and based on Sideswipe's possessiveness and Sunstreaker's willingness to please him, it sets red flags to Rung about their relationship. And he's not _wrong_ they had a lot of unspoken trauma between them they are ignoring, but it's not exactly what Rung thinks.
> 
> There have never been split-spark twins that acted like this in all of Cybertron's history, and being able to speak over a bond and not simply share emotions, is unheard of - even with conjunx endura bonds in this AU. What made split-spark bonds special was that they could sing themselves into sync (think more classical music). Shockwave set out to create the strongest spark bond in existence, and he doesn't even know they can speak along their bond or sing with words.


	20. The Autobot Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any IDW fans, have fun finding the inside references I made to that universe in this chapter XD.
> 
> Not relevant to plot to notice them though.

“The Autobot Code comprises a set of principles and rules that govern Autobot behaviour. A more than ten thousand page military manual, it’s a comprehensive system of morality. A framework for living that addresses all aspects of the Cybertronian condition. It is a treatise on aspirational behavior that shows to the rest of the galaxy that maybe - we can transcend our troubled past and become beacons of liberty and enlightenment.”

Sideswipe and his Sunny were sitting at attention, focus locked on the large mech in front of them with their copies of the Autobot Code held in their servos. Prowl had promised them this was when they would learn the rules that Sunny wanted. Okay so he didn’t exactly promise them that, but he had said there was an Autobot who was _thorough_ in explaining the rules, Ultra Magnus the mech had rigidly introduced himself.

But so far even Sunny was lost.

“We shall begin with the appendix.” Ultra Magnus turned toward a board with squiggles, dots, and circles, the pretty patterns that Sunny had explained long ago, were standardized Cybertronian glyphs. 

None of the glyphs were the ones Sunstreaker had taught Sideswipe. Reading and writing was Sunny’s domain between them. He’d read their contracts for the Pits and taught Sideswipe how to sign his name. Teaching Sideswipe over their bond in the Pits was difficult but Sideswipe eventually learned the glyph for Sunstreaker, a few opponents, though mostly Sideswipe had just asked Sunny who he was fighting. Learning his numbers had been easier for some reason, and when they were on their adventures across Cybertron together, Sunstreaker had taught him important words like _rust slug_ , _Vos_ , and _Just Because_. 

His new word _Hatchet_ he still wanted to practice. When he had carved it onto Ratchet’s door with Sunny’s help over their bond, Sunny had said it was legible as he pulsed encouragement and pride through their bond. Sometimes though, Sideswipe couldn’t read the more complicated patterns of glyphs on his HUD; his flashing red lights he called them. Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Triage had fixed them all now, and he could recognize everything on his display again. Working with Sunny, plus some trial and error, he’d figured out what most of his red blinking lights meant. New ones would flash occasionally that even Sunny had never seen.

Sunny said he had learned to read with a combination of language primers downloaded into his cortex, listening as he was read reports while holding a copy to follow along, and lists of defined terms. So far learning single glyphs was all Sideswipe had been able to do, and they just wouldn’t click into complete sentences once he strung together more than three or four. Neither one of them knew where to get language primers, and the time Sunny had tried to uplink his own, Sideswipe’s tanks had twisted until he purged.

And while Sunstreaker could theoretically read every glyph in the Autobot Code given enough time, the glyphs he didn’t know weren't defined in the back like he said they should be.

//He’s saying words Sideswipe, but I don’t recognize half of them, where is the morality system located in a Cybertronian frame? That was never covered in my lessons, and there certainly weren’t any frame diagrams in the manual.//

Sunny would know too. He’d flipped through the entire ten thousand pages of it -

And despaired.

//Donno.// Sideswipe shrugged along their bond, hoping to sooth Sunny’s frustration before he lost control and started rumbling. //Being beacons sounds good though. I’m going to point at that section, once I figure out who the requisition officer is, and add biolights to my frame. You know I’ve always wanted those Sunny.//

//Don’t you dare, not until I approve their placement.//

//Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get some beacons on your frame too. We are going to _enlighten_ every space we enter. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe transcend their troubled past with their enlightening beacons. They leap from tall buildings on to the backs of seekers, save friendly grey Autobots with door wingies, and together they rip out the morality system from every foe by -//

//Stop making up stories, I’m trying to take notes.// Sunstreaker jabbed hard with irritation along their bond.

//Ugh. You’re so _boring_ sometimes.// Fragging weird Autobots. Sunny had been so excited to be able to read something and be given fragging _parameters_ to follow so he could fit in too.

Sideswipe contented himself with all the buttons on his datapad for all of two breems before he got bored, and he spent a further eight breems staring at the board while imagining shapes he could make if he connected the dots. Feeling Sunny’s frustration morph to interest and entertainment along their bond, Sideswipe suppressed a huff; his weirdo was concentrating on this lesson like it was all a big puzzle of parts he could stick together.

//Sunny, he’s a bigger nerd than you. I can’t believe you are enjoying this.// Sideswipe glanced at his Sunny out of the corner of his optics.

//I agree, he’s distractingly huge.// Sunstreaker answered absently, his stylus working rapidly as he glared at Ultra Magnus with complete focus.

//That’s not what I...what do you mean _distractingly huge_?//

//I can’t…there is something strange about how he moves, I can’t visualized his internal components.// 

//…Wait…Are you sitting there thinking about stabbing him?//

//…no?// He was. He totally was! Sunny wasn’t listening anymore either.

//Well, what did you come up with?// Sideswipe shuffle-jumped his chair closer to Sunstreaker then picked up his datapad when Ultra Magnus looked back at him.

“Hmmmm, yes you are right sir, now that you point it out that transitive verb does raise a lot of questions.” Half listening, Sideswipe replied Ultra Magnus’ own words back at him. 

“I’m glad you agree.”

Sideswipe snickered into their bond at his genius, but Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics at Sideswipe.

//Your datapad is upside down.//

Sideswipe hastily flipped it around, and shot an innocent smile at Ultra Magnus who turned back toward the board with one last suspicious glance.

//Thanks Sunny.//

Sunstreaker had been so stressed after his _assessment_ with fragging Rung who may or may not be trying to study them. When Prowl had assigned them a reading, Sunny had clung to it with so much hope, finally being assigned something he could excel at and looking for rules he could follow as he stomped around. 

The probing questions and fragging space shrinks that gave Sunny Just Because gifts after Sunstreaker had threatened Rung, had confused him. Sideswipe did not like _at all_ how Sunny had felt along their bond when Rung had given him that artpad, nor that he said Sunny needed to come back to draw for him where Sideswipe couldn’t see.

What Sunny had wanted to draw when Rung had instructed him to draw “whatever he wished” would have weirded the little orangish ‘Bot out, so Sideswipe had helped his Sunny out over their bond by telling him a story to draw of Rung and Sideswipe battling space monsters together.

Only Megatronus’ field had ever flared with interest when Sunstreaker started stalking him in the Pits with his datapad to puzzle out where Megatronus was keeping his spark chamber. Everyone else found Sunstreaker’s habit he used to relax creepy, and Sideswipe had laughed so hard along their bond at Megatronus’ expression when Sunstreaker had told the gladiator to frag off and suck on a rusted spike. 

Served the jerk right for trying to touch Sideswipe’s Sunny with his field feeling like _that_ , even if Megatronus had started to go against the Pit Bosses wishes to spare Sunstreaker in their death matches in the ring. It wasn’t like he only did that for _Sunny_ , he did it for others too. 

After their appointment with the space shrink mech, Bluestreak showed Sideswipe a training area while Sideswipe pointedly didn’t watch Sunny test his joints and function. The routine helped Sunny relax after being so stressed. A crowd had gathered of course, and Hound seemed to really enjoy watching Sunstreaker with a blue mech who reminded Sideswipe of some of his regular patrons with the way he held himself.

Afterward Bluestreak took them to a place where they could get fuel and Sideswipe chatted with him and met all sorts of new Autobots as he worked the room, regaling them with stories as Sunstreaker sat at a table by himself in a corner reading the Autobot Code with singular focus. Whenever Bluestreak went over to try and talk to Sunny, Sideswipe intercepted him and herded him back to the main group with a smile telling him Sunny was in a grump and to leave him alone. 

Sunstreaker was doing his part by reading and learning the rules, and Sideswipe was doing his by working the room and making sure no one looked at them too closely.

Though he couldn’t control his laughter of delight when Bluestreak showed them to their berths in the barracks. Launching himself onto the top bunk he smiled cheekily at Sunny’s scowl when he complained maybe he wanted the top bunk. Sideswipe told him, nope, this was right. He’d always wanted Sunny to sleep under his berth.

Sunny had stayed up all night cycle trying to read and memorize the entire Autobot Code to prepare for their test while Sideswipe tried to be quiet and let him focus. Eventually Sideswipe managed to drift in to recharge on his front, with his arm draped off the side of the berth, as if he could reach his Sunny beneath him.

A boiling simmer of frustration along their bond was how Sideswipe onlined today. Sunstreaker ranted that more than half the pages of the Autobot Code he had managed to read didn’t make any sense to him and the other half was illogical. 

How could the Autobots endorse non-violence when they saw Bluestreak shooting at seekers? When they had fought them in battle?

Worse than Sunstreaker’s frustration though, was the feeling of failure coming through their bond from Sunny, because no matter how hard he had tried, he hadn’t finished his assignment. Sideswipe didn’t care and hoped they could wing it, but Sunny was really bothered by it and _that_ bothered Sideswipe. 

At least now Sunny had given up trying to make sense of it and was just having fun puzzling together the best place to stab Ultra Magnus to relax.

//How do you do that?// Sunny asked, //Have conversations without knowing the context? I’ve read as much as I could and I still don’t know what Ultra Magnus is talking about. I don’t know how Prowl expected me to get through the entire Autobot Code in one night cycle, how fast do Autobots read?// 

//I just take their words, twist them and repeat them back to them.// Sideswipe shrugged along their bond, //But more importantly, what’d you draw?// 

And he darted his EM field against theirs to judge their reactions while reading frame language, but mentioning EM fields normally made Sunny withdraw or get frustrated he was missing something other mechs took for granted.

//I’m not drawing, I’m listening and taking notes.//

//You aren’t listening and taking notes, you are drawing him trying to figure out where to stab him.//

//…So?//

//Lemme see.//

//No.// That’s what Sunny said, but Sideswipe knew from experience the more he poked his Sunny would eventually give in - Sunny just needed to grumble about it first is all.

//C’mon just beam it over to my pad, I’ve exhausted all the buttons. They just move back and forth over the same stupid pages. There aren’t even any pictures other than the red Autobot face thingie on the first page, and I’ve already put a plate mustache on that and given it an optic patch.//

//Frag off.//

//Please? I’m so bored my processor is melting, _melting_.//

//I said no.//

//Sunny…this is the little mech inside your spark, telling you that Sideswipe is melting and the only way to stop it is to show him your pretty pictures.// He sang along their bond.

//Fine. Here.// Sunstreaker grumbled and Sideswipe sent him a cheeky ping pattern of victory and thanks along their bond as Sunstreaker transferred the image to Sideswipe’s datapad.

The drawing of Ultra Magnus was detailed, precise - and not at all what Sideswipe wanted to see. He had worked far too hard to get Sunny to use his imagination on their adventures to allow him to revert to drawing the fragging _technical schematics_ fragging Shockwave required of him. Seeing a drawing of the two of them so static that Sunny had drawn for Rung, right after Sideswipe had been looking at the drawings Sunny had made of them in Vos, had made his spark ache as his fuel tanks twisted.

//Ugh, Sunny I’m looking right at him. If I wanted to see a copy of him I’d take an image capture - put a plate mustache on him.// Sideswipe prompted hoping to engage Sunny to use his imagination again as he slid his ‘pad so it was between them.

//He doesn’t have one.// Sunny grumbled.

//But it’s _funny_.// He stated as he pulsed encouragement along their bond. 

//You are ridiculous.// Sunstreaker complained, but he drew one anyway onto Sideswipe’s pad.

//Okay Sunny, now make him tiny, like Rung.// The picture they had worked on together over their bond while Suntreaker was in his office with Rung had given Sideswipe an idea to help his Sunny find his imagination again. 

//I have drawn him perfectly to scale.// Came the predictable objection.

//I know, but -//

“I do not believe you two are truly appreciating this appendix.” Snapping their attention toward Ultra Mangus’ suspicious glare from where Sideswipe was leaning in and poking at Sunny’s drawing on the former blank screen at the end of his manual, Sideswipe started damage control.

“Oh but we are sir. Sunny here just found an inconsistency is all, and I think it raises a lot of questions.” 

“Impossible.” Ultra Magnus crossed his arms in front of him as he stared at them, his field probing against the edges of Sideswipe’s as if to detect a lie.

//Give him something, I know you were up all cycle trying to read it all and writing all over it when you found something that didn’t make sense.//

“There is a typo on page 872, third line, second paragraph, fourth glyph.” Sunstreaker stated simply, and Sideswipe beamed at him over their bond. Sunny was the smartest mech Sideswipe had ever met next to Brainstorm.

//Sir! Say sir, they like that.// 

“Sir.”

Ultra Magnus glared at Sunstreaker intently, his frame going rigid, and Sideswipe kept his expression open as he darted their honesty at the edges of the Autobot’s field.

//Sideswipe, I made him angry.// Sunstreaker pulsed, uncertain.

//No, he’s glaring but his field is practically leaping.// Sideswipe translated and Sunny relaxed.

“You actually read it?” Ultra Magnus stated with disbelief. 

“Prowl told me to.” Sunstreaker answered and Sideswipe nodded his agreement beside him. 

“How did you feel when you encountered that typo?” Ultra Magnus probed, and of course Sunny answered honestly.

“It was extremely distracting, became the only part of the page that could hold my focus. I corrected the error in my own manual.”

“Yes! Exactly.” Ultra Magnus clapped his servos together once, causing Sideswipe to jump and Sunny to gloat at Sideswipe along their bond that clapping was applause and he’d gotten his answer right while socializing. Sideswipe didn’t have the spark to correct his Sunny and explain that gesture right now; Sunny so proud of himself. 

Ultra Magnus moved to stand before them and Sideswipe had to strain his neck to look up at him as the huge mech spoke, “I have been trying to convince Prime for _vorns_ to reproduce the manual because of the typo on page 872, third line, second paragraph, fourth glyph, but he states that it adds _character_ to the text. He refuses to allow me to have it corrected and reissue an extended edition complete with supplemental reading for the Code.”

“That -“

Sideswipe kicked Sunstreaker under the table at the same time he poked Sunny over their bond to cut him off.  
“- does not make sense.” Sunny corrected. He was about to say fragging _illogical_.

Ultra Magnus loomed over them all distractingly huge as he scowled down at Sunstreaker. “Were you able to complete your reading?”

“No.” Sunstreaker answered honestly.

//Sunny you should have lied!//

“And you?” Ultra Magnus looked down at Sideswipe with a glare. 

Sideswipe started damage control as he rubbed at the back of his neck cabling while looking down and off to the side, pretending to be ashamed as he spun a half truth while extending his field, “I couldn’t focus after I heard Sunny grumbling about that typo.” 

“Follow me.” Ultra Magnus stated shortly and marched out of the room with a purpose.

//Are we being kicked out because we didn’t finish it?// Sunny asked uncertainly, guilt and failure echoing over their bond and Sideswipe resisted clenching his servos into fists.

//I don’t know Sunny, he _was_ excited, but now his field feels furious. Just follow for now, if we have to, I’ll lead us into sync, we take them by surprise and leave. At least we got repaired, and I stuffed my subspace full of rations yesterday.// 

Sideswipe wouldn’t feel even a little bit horrible if they had to kill some Autobots on their way out. And they were taking Bluestreak so Sunny could make a friend.

Frag Autobots for being so weird, this was suppose to be easy. Instead, Sideswipe felt like they were barely struggling to keep up with all these fragging assessments, and drawing attention to themselves. In the Pits and with the Decepticons they mostly ignored each other from everyone else’s point of view, but they’d been traveling together looking out for just themselves for so long, Sideswipe was having a hard time trying to create the right amount distance between them for their cover as Pit pals that sometimes cuddled.

Fragging Medbay. Fragging Rung. Fragging _talking_. Sunny and Sideswipe had a method to hide in plain sight and it fragging worked. Why couldn’t the Autobots just point them at who they wanted killed and leave them alone? 

//You’re an idiot.// That’s what Sunny said, but lobbed a nervous tentative loveball at Sideswipe.

//I love you too Sunny.// And as always when Sideswipe said that, Sunny pulsed back a wave of reverence, adoration and relief.

Tossing a reassuring smile to his nervous and guilt ridden Sunny from their place behind a determined and focused Ultra Magnus as they followed the large mech through the Autobot compound, Sideswipe lobbed a loveball full of promise along their bond.

They were _not_ going back to the Decepticons with fragging Shockwave to survive. If the Autobots made Sideswipe lose his Sunny over fragging _reading_ and kicked them out, he’d find a way to make them regret it.

Fragging diode munching mechs with soft sparks wouldn’t even see it coming, not with the slag Sideswipe was still carrying around from his Decepticon friend Brainstorm.

_Unmentionables._

Sideswipe and his stories had inspired the creation of more than a few of them. 

From an emergency subspace pocket close to his left wrist he flicked out his lucky credit, flipping it between his digits as he walked until it wedged just so beneath the plating of his servo.

And to think, he had almost wasted its luck on that rust slug all those vorns ago.

……………..

“Optimus, we have an emergency.”

Ultra Magnus came bursting into Prime’s office, and when Prowl turned to see the two ex-gladiator recruits hovering behind the large mech, he wanted to chuckle at Sunstreaker’s unimpressed expression and Sideswipe’s forced grin.

Instead he settled on a slight smirk.

Jazz however, had no such decency of composure, and certainly could have stifled his chuckle if he wanted to.

Sitting through lessons on the Autobot Code with Ultra Magnus had become a hazing ritual of sorts among the Autobots. After the lessons, Autobots would gather around the new recruits, share their own experience, a summery, and highlight the most important sections. It had been so long since they had new recruits, Prowl had almost forgotten the baffled and strained looks that would leave Ultra Magnus’ lessons.

Or Ultra Magnus’ scathing disapproval when recruits failed to pay attention.

No recruit could read the entire manual in one night cycle and Prowl estimated around 60% of the Autobots never actually read it at all. It was more of a moral code of guidelines to which the Autobots aspired, a promise of a life of society beyond the war and holding onto the values needed for building a future.

In Prowl’s personal opinion, Ultra Magnus took it far too literally, though the code held important laws that were to be upheld. 

“What is the emergency Ultra Magnus.” Optimus asked, posed and commanding respect from behind his desk without conscious effort. 

Ultra Magnus turned toward Sunstreaker. “Recruit Sunstreaker, tell Optimus what you told me.”

Spark rate increasing, Prowl subconsciously prepped his battle computer to incorporate valuable intel the recruits must have revealed to Ultra Magnus.

“I did not complete my assigned reading.” Sunstreaker responded, focus locked on Optimus, servos clenched into fists. 

Returning his battle computer to its stable running state of fifty percent, Prowl resisted rolling his optics, that was hardly intel or basis for an emergency.

“Not that, _why_ did you not complete your assigned reading?” Ultra Magnus prompted and went to push Sunstreaker further into the room. Sunstreaker side-stepped his servo with a scowl, and glanced at his plating as if checking for a scratch before he answered directly to Optimus.

“The text was riddled with inconsistencies, extremely frustrating and a glaringly obvious typo on page 872. Third line, second paragraph, fourth glyph.” His engine rumbled along with his tone of distain and Sideswipe bumped his shoulder against him, “Sir.”

Ultra Magnus rounded back toward Optimus and held out his well worn copy of the Autobot Code, pointing at the screen. “You see Optimus! The typo on page 872, third line, second paragraph, fourth glyph of the Autobot Code must be corrected immediately.”

Optimus rubbed his forehelm with his servo while cycling a sigh from his vents, “Ultra Magnus. Need I remind you, we have discussed my thoughts on the matter. At length. On _multiple_ occasions.”

“I am painfully aware of your _opinion_ on the matter however,” He gestured for the two recruits to step forward, “these diligent recruits were unable to complete their reading because of it. Sideswipe how did the typo make you feel?”

“I thought the typo added character my Lord Prime, sir. Sunny disagreed.” Optimus flinched at Sideswipe’s address of _Lord_ Prime.

“See?” Ultra Magnus entreated. “Autobot recruit Sunstreaker here uncovered the typo and was unable to focus on the rest of the reading, and it distracted him so much, he and recruit Sideswipe were both unable to finish their reading as they discussed its implications at length.”

“It’s true sir.” Sideswipe interjected and took another step forward, exuding innocence with his smile and nodded his agreement. “When I onlined this morning Sunny was still grumbling about it.”

Jazz stopped smirking as he looked between them and gapped. “You mechs _actually_ read to page 872?”

“Prowl assigned reading the Autobot Code before our lesson, but I was unable to complete it beyond page 2439 before my time was up.” Sunstreaker deadpanned toward Prowl then flicked his focus to Sideswipe, whose smile was starting to fade as he looked between Jazz and Prowl. 

“Sunstreaker,” Prowl began, “The manual is over ten thousand pages long, you were not expected to read it in one night cycle that would be impossible for any mech without extensive cortex modifications. Some Autobots have never actually read the entire Autobot Code.” 

“Wait,” Jazz cut off any response Sunstreaker was about to make, “You’re telling me you mechs _actually_ tried to read all of the Autobot Code? All ten thousand pages, in one cycle?” Prowl knew he was not the only one reassessing them based on this information.

Sunstreaker looked toward Sideswipe, snarled as his engine revved, then abruptly turned and stomped away without a parting word or waiting for dismissal. The wall outside Prime’s office shook for a moment before Sunstreaker’s stomping pedes stormed off into the distance. 

But it was Sideswipe, who had been mostly smiles in every interaction with the Autobots up until this point, that stayed and glared at them; blue optics storming and practically spitting sparks.

“What?” He snapped, servos clenched around his copy of the Autobot Code as his field lashed out hard and dripping acid causing Prowl to take a step back under the tank churning force. “Because we’re ex-gladiators, ex-Decepticons, trying to be ex-Neutrals you didn’t think we could _read_? Frag all of you.” 

Jabbing the datapad in his hand toward the empty doorway behind him, he flared his armor from his frame as he stalked forward toward Optimus at his desk. “Sunny stayed up all night cycle reading your slagging code to learn all your stupid rules to try and impress you. You assigned him an impossible task and this is all a huge joke to you?” 

Glaring at Prowl, he slammed the datapad onto Optimus Prime’s desk. “What is _wrong_ with you mechs?”

Carefully, Optimus picked up the datapad, onlined it and looked up at the seething Sideswipe leaning on his desk. Either he was oblivious to Jazz’s coiled preparation for any wrong move, or he simply didn’t view Jazz as a threat, and Prowl wasn’t certain which option was more interesting.

“Sideswipe,” Optimus began, “the Autobot Code is not a joke. I apologize for the misunderstanding, it appears Prowl was simply not clear on his expectations when he assigned the task to the both of you. I fear a certain tradition that has cropped up among Autobots in order to welcome new recruits has gotten out of control, considering the circumstances.” Optimus simply looked at Prowl as he said the last part, and Prowl’s fuel tank twisted. Optimus Prime had a way of scolding an Autobot without ever raising his voice. 

“However,” Optimus continued, “I must say I am impressed with how seriously the both of you took this task.” Smiling down at Sideswipe’s copy of the Autobot Code, he offlined it then placed it down in front of Sideswipe. 

Sideswipe looked from Prime to the datapad as the snarl from his face dropped and he furrowed his optic ridges. Snatching up the datapad up, he shoved it absently in his subspace causing Prowl to grimace at his carelessness. 

“Do not _ever_ assign Sunny a task unless you mean it. He takes assignments very seriously.” Sideswipe snapped, as he pointed a digit hard on Optimus’ desk, but the hard edge from his field was retreating.

“Thank you for your insight and understanding Sideswipe.” Prime stated patiently, “We will remember that in the future when issuing orders to Sunstreaker.”

“Thanks.” Sideswipe muttered as he crossed his arms over his chestplate and looked at Prime as if he had encountered an alien being. It made Prowl wonder if objections within the Decepticon ranks often ended in violence, Sideswipe seemed confused, as if his tone did not elicit the reaction he expected. 

Optimus leaned forward toward Sideswipe, with his servos folded together before him, “Now that the both of you have familiarized yourself with Autobot Code, and our code of ethics I’m certain you reached in the manual considering how far you read, is there anything else you wish to share with us about Sunstreaker and yourself?” Optimus probed, his field extending in a calm assurance.

A huge smile was instantly on Sideswipe’s face, and his field darted away.

“We do need to find a guy about some biolights once I find where Sunny stormed off to. In his mood he’s likely to tear the arm off of the next ‘Bot that comes near him. And he _likes_ rules, but sometimes, he gets so angry he forgets them.” Sideswipe explained.

There was a slight pained expression on Optimus’ face that Sideswipe had not taken this opportunity to open up, and wished to continue his charade of the two of them as self professed Pit pals, fearful of the Autobots even now to share that they were conjunx endura as if it were a weakness that would expose them as a target.

“Then you best go catch up with Sunstreaker and explain we appreciate his diligence toward Autobot ideals and eagerness to join the Autobots. Ratchet has cleared both of you for basic training with Ironhide starting tomorrow. I suggest Sunstreaker attempts to recharge before then.” Sideswipe nodded, and Optimus continued, “Oh, and please refrain from calling me Lord Prime in the future. Prime, sir, or Optimus is just fine, Sideswipe.”

“I’ll do that,” Sideswipe grinned. “Thanks for being so understanding Prime sir. Sunny tries hard but he doesn’t always - anyway I’ll go catch him.”

“That would be best. You are dismissed recruit Sideswipe.” Nodding toward Sideswipe, the red mech turned to leave, made it as far as the door and he stopped when he saw Ultra Magnus smiling down at him.

Prowl never thought he’d see the cycle when Ultra Magnus came out of one of his Autobot Code lessons with a fond smile on his face. Yet here it was, the mech was positively bursting to learn about their enthusiasm for learning the Autobot Code and following rules.

“Thank you for your lesson sir,” Sideswipe snapped his frame to attention, standing tall, “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will remember your interesting questions on transitive verbs, and endeavor to transcend our troubled past as Autobot enlightened beacons.”

“I look forward to attending your Rite of the Autobrand recruit. I do not believe I have ever had more diligent or enthusiastic students. My office is open to yourself or Sunstreaker at any time if you wish to continue discussing the finer points of the code.” Ultra Magnus nodded to him.

“Thanks sir!” Sideswipe’s salute was crisp and clean compared to the last time Prowl saw him do it. Dropping the salute, Sideswipe darted out of the room as he called over his shoulder, “Sunny had fun in your lessons.”

Before anyone could say a word, Sideswipe popped his head back in the doorway.

“Oh and Ultra Magnus, sir. If you see Sunny glaring at you, it’s because he thinks you are distractingly huge and need a plate mustache - certainly not because he’s thinking about stabbing you or anything, because that would be weird right?” Ultra Magnus startled as Sideswipe patted his arm and continued with a reassuring tone, “Anyway don’t worry about the plate mustache sir, I argued you look better tiny.”

Then Sideswipe was gone, leaving a baffled Ultra Magnus in his wake.

Prowl shared a confused look with Jazz as Optimus’ booming laughter echoed out at Ultra Magnus’ frozen form.

::I’m telling you Prowler, there is something simply _off_ with that mech, there’s more to him than he’s showing. The way his mood does a u-turn, mech’s harboring a lot of anger. They want to be Autobots, but I can’t get a read on which one of them is more dangerous, Sideswipe or Sunstreaker.::

::Obviously it’s the one that will rip off an arm for being touched.::

::I’m not so sure about that mech - the way Sideswipe’s field flared when he thought Sunstreaker’s efforts were being slighted, I’m starting to agree with Rung’s preliminary assessment.::

::Traitor.:: Prowl bit, reminded of the message he had received this morning and the fact that he had yet to come up with a solution to his problem.

::Hey now! Don’t blame me. I never said I’d back you against _Ratchet_ , and you know how seriously Optimus takes Rung’s assessments. Face it Prowler, you ain’t winning this.::

Rung’s preliminary psych assessment Prowl had received in his inbox this morning stated Sideswipe and Sunstreaker may become a liability on the battle field if placed in the same combat unit. Additionally, he highly recommended Sunstreaker not be permitted to see combat, at least until he had a chance to work with him further. Though he admitted to wanting to observe their combat simulations before he made a final recommendation for where Sunstreaker would be most suitably placed. 

And there had been a message from Ratchet shortly after with a single gloating glyph. 

Prowl had been livid enough, he had to stop himself before he made a mess he’d just have to clean up as his servos clenched hard on the edge of his desk. After forcing himself to go to _therapy_ to manipulate Rung, he had already begun combat simulations with various frontline units he wanted to send them to, other units where their presence would decrease Autobot casualties. Not to mention sending them out when Bluestreak was deployed. 

He simply couldn’t deploy the two conjunx endura where he could keep them far from Shockwave and his cold, blunt so called spark research if they weren’t both in his fragging unit. 

::You saw their teamwork as well as I on the backs of those seekers.:: He snapped. ::That level of coordination speaks to vorns fighting together. They can practically predict each other’s next movement.::

::Rung cleared Sideswipe as a frontliner. And you just saw same as me, Sparkles has an anger issue sure, but that mech just studied _hard_ in a no win situation. You can bet that’s getting back to both Rung and Ratchet.::

Clenching his servos hard into fists because frag it all Jazz was _right_ , he excused himself from Optimus and headed back to his office. Passively he noted the deep dent in the wall outside where Sunstreaker must have planted his fist. 

He needed those two _together_ under his command, and Optimus would be furious if he found out Prowl had approached them to manipulate their assessments.

High Command was required to observe a few of their combat assessments, and Prowl resolved to be around the edges of every single one; compiling data of their abilities so he could present his combat predictions and casualty rates to Optimus. 

At this point, Prowl needed a miracle to get those two both placed under his command. 

Walking to his office, he increased his battle computer to 85% as he idly compared simulations for the statistical success against the collateral damage if he lured seekers over Iacon so those two could show off, verses the lives he could save with them under his command.

Bluestreak’s statistical success of survival through the war increased.

Diverting more of his processing power toward his battle computer, his spark raced, and his surroundings became minor background annoyances as he increased the simulations from two hundred and twenty three to five hundred.

The back of his cortex dismissed the actual red and golden mechs of his simulations as he passed, and he heard Red Alert toss them out of his monitor room while screaming about spies. The red one’s laughter that he had found his long lost twin in Red Alert complete with his love of flashing lights and buttons was dismissed as irrelevant.

Narrowing down the simulations, he found he could minimize the collateral damage in Iacon, and in the long term, more Autobot lives would be saved if -

Freezing rigid mid-step, his sensor panels spiked high as a rude digit poked at the sensitive joint attaching them to his frame - his calculations forgotten as his battle computer reset to fifty percent. 

Slamming his sensor panels shut on the offensive servo, the pain of trapping it between them was worth it when he heard a startled yelp.

What the frag had he been thinking? His spark clenched at what he was capable of achieving. It would _work_ , but the cost to himself - to ethics -

He’d become exactly what his mentor warned he could become, trained him to avoid. 

_What he had become in the past_

His battle computer was designed as a medical device. Not to be run at full capacity, but to keep his spark anomaly from further melting his cortex.

But that was before -

Deleting all the results of the simulations he’d just run, he pretended as if they never happened and focused on the rude servo wiggling and trapped between his sensor panels

As he flared them wide, he spun around to meet the startled optics of Sideswipe who stood, shaking out his servo. As Prowl sputtered, Sideswipe had the audacity to grin and ask, “Looked like your door wingies were stuck, did I fix them yet?”

“There is nothing wrong, and they are sensor panels! Not door wingies! Do you have any idea how rude -“

“Did you get what you need Sunny?” Prowl seemingly forgotten, Sideswipe turned to look at Sunstreaker leaning against the wall to the side, glaring at Prowl’s sensor panels, with a datapad and stylus in his servos.

Nodding, he pushed himself off the wall as he tucked his datapad away. 

Considering them, Prowl wondered if this had been revenge for him participating in the hazing tradition of the Autobot Code. 

Instead another opportunity was brought forth from his battle computer and technically they had approached him, Prowl turned to Sunstreaker, “Prime wishes you to recharge before your combat assessments. It is best you are well rested to perform to my high standards, and I expect to be impressed with your _teamwork_.”

Sideswipe slung an arm around his self proclaimed Pit pal, “Promise, you’ve never seen a team like Sunny and me, we are pretty much the definition of team work.” Gesturing between themselves he grinned, “Been guarding each other’s backplates for vorns, sometimes it’s as if we can read each other’s cortexes, right Sunny?”

Sunstreaker simply sneered at Prowl as if his very presence before him was foul.

“I expect nothing less from Autobot recruits being considered for placement under my command.” Looking directly at Sunstreaker he stated, “I judge a mech on their abilities, and collect the acceptable statistical probabilities of success based on those results, _not_ on their past. I am impressed with your work ethic and attention to detail so far. I suggest, you put on an impressive show when Prime is watching, others are not as _selective_ when judging a mech.”

Prowl continued to stare Sunstreaker down, hoping he had instilled the same drive to impress that Sunstreaker displayed in the Medbay and when studying, toward his combat.

“Anything less than my best is unacceptable.” Sunstreaker stated as he crossed his arms over his chestplate.

Prowl nodded to him, ignoring Sideswipe and his strange sudden spiking field completely.

“Glad to hear it recruit Sunstreaker. You’ll find I have a place for all types of mechs in the combat units under my command. I will be watching closely. _Impress_ me.” Turning toward Sideswipe, Prowl glared. “And you, I’m afraid we don’t have actual seekers here you can use display your aerial combat maneuvers on, but I expect to see the same innovation that led you to create it.”

Sideswipe smiled wide, his optics shining as he nudged Sunstreaker’s hip with his own.

“Prowl wants us to put on a show.”

Sunstreaker simply made an odd threatening growl from his nasal ridge, then turned and stomped away in the direction of the barracks.

And Prowl knew he had harnessed their focus, and their drive to impress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Flails like a flailing thing* [PinkAxolotl85 shared fanart made for Hypothesis!!](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Hypothesis-cover-668077992) And you can go and bask in their glory! It takes an incredible amount of courage to post your work online for others to see, I'm honored to have inspired, and so proud of you! Your composition is amazing and it gave me chills with just the right amount of creepy horror evoking what Shockwave has done to the twins and their bond.
> 
> Next, combat assessments and we'll see if they give Prowl is still feeling so smug. XD
> 
> Then...things are suppose to get more fun for a bit, but triggers of past trauma pop up in daily life when they least expect it. There's going to be laughs, progress and set backs while having a life as they navigate them and their secrets. 
> 
> And I'm back to counting plot threads again so expect updates to slow down for a bit. I'm extremely new with creative writing and I'm trying not to get crushed under the weight of the world building while I catch-up and sew up my (mostly Prowl) related plot holes and make sure I haven't contradicted myself from my first draft to my final.
> 
> Edit: First Chapter of [Observations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10411191/chapters/22990311) is up and shows the scene between Red Alert and the twins.


	21. Pirates of Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a massive chapter o'fun to make up for my long(ish) absence.
> 
> A few new POV's in this chapter because I like to show how different Autobots view Sunstreaker and Sideswipe based on rumors, stories, reputations and assumptions.

"I've never seen such a sorry sot of slods."

Trailbreaker leaned slightly toward Hound and whispered, "Is this suppose to be a pep talk?"

"You!" Sideswipe rounded and pointed at Trailbreaker as a shadow loomed over him from behind. Turning his helm, his spark raced faster to find _Sunstreaker_ , the Butcher of Polyhex directly behind him. The mech’s field was pulled so tight, Trailbreaker hadn’t even known he was there, "First mate Sunny here wants to know your story matey!” 

Sunstreaker actually didn’t look like he was pleased to be part of this evaluation at all, let alone wanting to know anything about Trailbreaker.

The mech set Trailbreaker’s servos twitching, aching to activate a barrier between himself and that unnerving gaze searching straight through him. 

Trailbreaker heard when Ironhide had shown the two new recruits the blasters and blades with safety setting designed to disrupt a mech’s sensors and mimicking a mobility injury for training, Sunstreaker had promptly stabbed Sideswipe in the shoulder and nodded as he stared at Sideswipe’s limp arm. Then Sideswipe had shot Sunstreaker in the leg and the two of them became a pile of stabbing and shooting at each other until Sunstreaker straddled Sideswipe and “beheaded” him with a vindictive smirk.

The creepy part of the rumor: Sunstreaker’s cooling fans had clicked and whirred to life. 

“Uh…I'm Trailbreaker. I’m the forcefield guy.” He started out uncertainly then continued more bold as he straightened his posture. “Autobot defense strategist. I generate a forcefield.”

They were performing a training simulation called capture the flag, and recruit Sideswipe had been made team captain so the higher ups could evaluate his leadership ability and strategy under pressure. Trailbreaker didn’t know what kind of plan Sideswipe had in mind with the odd combination of mechs he chose for his team, claimed “a captain worked with what he was given,” while tossing the datapad Prowl had given him with their profiles to Sunstreaker _after_ he had selected his team.

"Seriously?!?" Sideswipes optics lit up as soon as Trailbreaker mentioned his forcefield.

“It’s nearly impenetrable, and invisible, but its incredibly fuel consuming and slows me down.” Activating his forcefield, Trailbreaker nodded his helm toward the space in front of him, "Push against it. Punch it."

Sideswipe poked it with his digits, took a few steps back and rammed his shoulder into it. Grinning, his field pulsed in delight as he looked at Sunstreaker over Trailbreaker’s shoulder.

Sideswipe stepped back, looking like he’d been given the greatest gift of strategy, and Trailbreaker deflated with a ventilated sigh. 

He hated capture the flag simulations. 

As the slowest Autobot with an actual mobile alt mode, Trailbreaker was always left at his team’s base with the flag, and the other team always waited him out until he ran out of fuel. His fuel consumption required to generate his forcefields was enormous, all the Autobots knew that, and he hated having to waste the Autobots' dwindling resources on a training exercise.

Hi-grade helped extend the life of his forcefield, but he could hardly get over charged in a training exercise and slow his processing ability. 

About to deactivate his forcefield, Trailbreaker startled when Sideswipe jumped up and launched off it with his pedes while firing his jetpack -

Point blank. 

Flames filled Trailbreaker’s visual feed as the ricochet of the blast sent the red mech flying backward against a nearby wall. And as Sideswipe crawled out of the rubble laughing in glee, Trailbreaker heard Sunstreaker growl out a threat through his nasal ridge directly behind him. Trailbreaker’s spark rate increased as it was apparent Sunstreaker blamed Trailbreaker for his friend careening into the side of a wall.

The red recruit abruptly cut his laughter as his smile dropped from his face. 

For a moment Trailbreaker’s fuel pump halted, but Sideswipe’s optics glimmered bright and his field flit across Trailbreaker’s with enthusiasm despite his adoption of a deadly serious commanding tone and posture.

"Well on _my_ crew, your name’s ‘Cutter. Glad to have a mech with your talents aboard.” 

Sideswipe nodded sharply at him then stalked over to Blaster further down the line where Sideswipe had instructed them to stand for “inspection.” Sunstreaker returned to reading the datapad containing the Autobot profiles in the simulation, as he ghosted Sideswipe’s movement in parallel behind the line.

"Aboard _what_?!” Trailbreaker whispered to Hound. Hound shrugged as he looked between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe walking the line.

Trailbreaker watched as Sideswipe listened intently to Blaster’s explanation of his knowledge of jamming communications, making it impossible for all mechs in a certain radius to communicate over comm signals until they hacked his frequency. Few could manage to override it faster than Blaster could block it again. 

Oddly, Sideswipe seemed more interested in Blaster’s speakers on his frame than the strategic advantage of stationing Blaster somewhere to disrupt comm signals. 

As Sideswipe moved down the line, he skipped past Bluestreak with a wink and spoke to Smokescreen, delighted to hear about the strategist’s magnetized cloud of smoke he could deploy when he needed to make an exit.

"And you?" Sideswipe trotted backward and loomed close toward Hound, staring him deep in the optics. 

"I have heightened olfactory sensors" 

Sideswipe was quiet for a moment, crowding closer into Hound’s personal space until their nasal ridges were almost touching, then he grinned, "so you smell slag out?"

“…Yea, you could put it like that…and I’ve got a talent for making and projecting detailed holograms on the fly.” Holding out his servos and leaning back to get Sideswipe out of his face, Hound made a pile of rubble appear to be a seamless part of the street. 

Darting over to it, Sideswipe crouched and poked at Hound’s hologram as he wrinkled his brow. After a few klicks Sunstreaker joined him, datapad held out before himself as he scanned it again, then tucked into this subspace. 

They couched there in silence for about thirty klicks making odd, seemingly random gestures with their servos and digits - some kind of code? - then both of them looked to a pile of rubble surrounding some old salvage across the street, and a smile split across Sideswipe’s face as he started to cackle with glee. 

Standing, he tucked his arms behind his back and walked the line in front of them.

"Crew! We've got ourselves a plan. Let’s -”

“It’s against the rules to touch our flag once the clock starts, you can’t put it in your subspace.” Sunstreaker’s rumbling interruption came from behind Sideswipe, halting the red mech mid-step.

Sideswipe glared at Sunstreaker standing defensively with his arms crossed in front of himself, then huffed out his vents. Turning to his team again Sideswipe raised his servo high above his head, holding a rusted dagger that had appeared out of nowhere.

“Crew! We’ve got ourselves another plan! Let's go capture that flag from those slag sucking flag hoarders.” Rotating he threw the knife, severing a cable and burying itself in the rusted salvage with a twang. A cascade of rubble, no longer held back by the cable, spilled into the street.

After his booming declaration and quick display of accuracy, Sideswipe spun on his heel strut, crossed the street and started to dig through the rubble.

Everyone in line shifted their plating, their fields pulsing in uncertainty as they looked toward each other. Smokescreen shrugged in time with his sensor panels.

“First Mate Sunny, deploy the paint!” Sideswipe called over his shoulder as he tossed the yellow mech five flares from his subspace, then returned to tossing aside the rubble. Sunstreaker put two flares in his subspace then tossed the remaining three to Bluestreak who did the same. 

Blaster gaped at Bluestreak as the grey mech shrugged and moved forward to start moving rubble too.

Sunstreaker pulled supplies of red and black paint out of his subspace and shoved them at Trailbreaker and Hound, then stomped away back across the street.

What the frag was going on? 

“Wait. What’s the plan?” Trailbreaker sputtered, baffled, as he looked down toward the cans of paint he juggled in his arms.

Sunstreaker huffed, shook his helm then stalked over and round house kicked a massive chunk of metal scrap to the ground with a reverberating clang. 

A wall behind it was revealed. A wall containing rusted out holes of metal with chipped and peeling paint, a large faded Autobot insignia… and wheels?

Trailbreaker’s field spiked in time with Hound’s and they shared a look with Blaster and Smokescreen. 

That was one of…what was the plan with _that_?

The golden yellow mech pulled out a medical welding torch and saw from his subspace and started cutting out the faded Autobot insignia.

Sideswipe climbed up on to the ramp at the back of the hunk of old salvage he had been digging out, and motioned his bizarre combination of mechs to toward him.

As they gathered closer, Sideswipe crouched down, draping his arm across his knee, ensured he had their attention, and smiled wide.

“Let me tell you about the vorn Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were weapon smugglers in the city of Tarn…”

And as he started to explain his plan, Blaster started laughing so hard he doubled over. Bluestreak beamed to be paired with Sunstreaker who sneered at Sideswipe, looked less than enthused, and stalked by Sideswipe up the ramp to begin to cut through the interior. 

When Sideswipe got to Trailbreaker’s role, or rather _’Cutter’s_ , Trailbreaker’s field pulsed with unbridled nervous enthusiasm. 

They got started, and Smokescreen smirked, shaking his helm as Sunstreaker removed both Sideswipe and Hound’s shoulder mounted munitions; Smokescreen’s own dual mounts already removed and lined up at the side.

Trailbreaker smeared his paintbrush dipped in red in the boundaries of the lines and smirked along with Blaster as Bluestreak laid out his vast collection of grappling hooks and ziplines from his subspace.

Smokescreen nudged Trailbreaker’s shoulder as he walked by with Sunstreaker’s medical saw and jumped up to his position. “Scary thing is, I’ve run the the odds. This insanity might even work.”

Trailbreaker could only shake his head as his spark raced, servos twitching in anticipation. 

Captain Sideswipe’s team spent a joor and forty-five breems encased with the heavy scent of paint fumes, phosphorous, sulphur and heated rusted cybermetal plating. The sparking sounds of cutting heated metal echoed through the street along with their laughter as Sideswipe gave every member of his crew detailed backstories. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe themselves carefully removed the munition loads from the missiles, keeping only the propulsion components before moving on to the finer details of Sideswipe's plan.

Time clicked down.

Slipping his pedes into the mounts Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had fashioned for him, _’Cutter_ thought that the truly scary thing about this plan was...he swore Captain Sideswipe had come up with this insane plan within his first few breems of meeting Trailbreaker.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“Except for some quick scouting, they haven't moved from their position in over a joor. What are they doing?” Ironhide huffed from his position next to Prowl. 

High Command had convened on the observation deck, gathered around a holographic map of the designated simulation area. 

“Well wherever they are when that buzzer goes off,” Wheeljack stated, “They have to leave their flag so hopefully they have built a fortress.”

“In two joors? When there are buildings all around to choose from? And in the middle of the street?” Ironhide crossed his arms in front of himself and shook his helm. “Sideswipe’s going to do a full frontal reckless assault and get more than half his team killed. It’s how he fights, just watch.”

“Mech chose a defensive team though, passed over Roller and the harder hitting minibots entirely, I say he’s built somethin’.” Jazz objected with his own observations. “Mechs are scavengers, probably know how to ambush and scatter.” 

“I still can’t believe he didn’t choose Blurr.” Wheeljack interjected.

“I swear you were trying to stack the odds in his favor Prowl.” Ratchet muttered.

Prowl listened to the words around him, but he had his optics narrowed on the collection of red dots on the screen where his future frontliners damn well better be working to give their all, and work as a seamless team. There was a strategy to Sideswipe’s aerial combat he developed. The skills the both of them had displayed as they worked in tandem to rescue Bluestreak, Sunstreaker’s mobility routine, and through their individual combat assessments…

The were an odd combination that Prowl was just itching to deploy. 

Together.

Ironhide’s report stated he still didn’t know what to make of the two new recruits. 

He liked Sideswipe well enough, but the mech had baffled him by darting across the shooting range and ripping an energy cannon out of Sunstreaker’s servo, screaming in his impassive conjunx’s face. It seemed Sideswipe had a vendetta against cannons, refused for either of them to be evaluated with one. Oddly he was delighted when Ironhide discovered his extensive subspace collection and earmarked him for mobile artillery. 

The red recruit had spent all last evening showing off his newly mounted missile launcher in the mess hall. Meanwhile Sunstreaker had sat alone with the artpad Prowl had seen in his servos after his assessment with Rung, glaring at various Autobots, revving his engine irritably, and sneering at anyone who went close to him.

Sunstreaker…well Ironhide had pulled him off of Sideswipe, yelling at the ex-gladiator when he had “beheaded” Sideswipe with the practice blade. Ironhide’s servo had been numbed by that same blade as Sunstreaker rounded on him with a snarl and told him to frag off and suck on a rusted spike. 

The mech stormed out of the training room, polishing the place Ironhide had touched while Sideswipe remained, making excuses before darting out after him.

With ranged weapons, they had tested as polar opposites. 

Prowl had watched over his datapad from the sidelines as Sideswipe unloaded an entire clip or energy cell toward his target while making jokes with Ironhide. Sunstreaker however, stood and waited stoically for a specific shot. When they used two dimensional targets, Sunstreaker had horrible accuracy and shot at the helm every time after some incomprehensible hesitation. When they moved to the drones, Sunstreaker took them out in a few shots, specifically targeting weak points and gaps in plating, though he grumbled about his inaccuracy when compared to using his blade.

For unarmed combat, Ironhide had separated them. 

Sideswipe had a tendency to dart into a mech’s guard ripping off plating, and Sunstreaker circled, prowling his opponent until he found an opening and struck hard at joints and thinly armored points on frames.

Both of them had sent Autobots to the Medbay even after it had been explained multiple times they were sparing. It was as if they were competing who could take down their opponent first.

Glaring now at the holographic map of the five quadrants of an uninhabited part of Iacon designated for this simulation, Prowl turned his attention toward the dots of the opposing team.

As requested by High Command and unbeknownst to the other team, they established their base in quadrant one, within visual distance of the elevated command deck under the assumption that both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would be part of an offensive assault on the opposing team’s base. The opposing team appeared to be constructing a series of three barricades along the street approaching the building where they secured their flag, having first secured any entry points to the building and the ones in their immediate surroundings.

As sooner as the buzzer sounded, Prowl shifted his attention back to Sideswipe’s team and watched two dots immediately separate from the bulk of the unit. Those two dots appeared to be traveling together, over lapping to one dot occasionally in and among buildings.

Those had to be his frontliners. 

The rest of Sideswipe’s team remained where they were in the middle of the street in quadrant three.

Turning to the field in play, Prowl clasped his servos behind his back and scoured the skylines for glints of red and gold.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

There was no Autobot faster than Blurr.

No other land based Cybertronian either last he checked.

As soon as the buzzer indicated the start of the assessment, Blurr was off. Pistons pumping, pneumatic lines pressurizing then depressurizing with each propelled step forward, thumping along the street with the increased rotation of his spark and pounding of his fuel pump. The extensive ventilation network on his frame tossed open, plating flared to cool components that ran the risk of over heating. At the same time, his plating flared in what he knew to be the most optimally aerodynamic way, making minor adjustments as he felt the air flow over him, around him, and through him.

Blurr never got to run capture the flag simulations. It was basically cheating, yet Prowl had sent out a notification stating he had been randomly selected to participate in the simulation.

Everyone should want Blurr on their team for this simulation. 

Except he hadn’t been selected.

It was downright bizarre.

Recruit Sideswipe had been given a list of everyone he could chose for his team, their strengths, their stats, and twenty breems to pick a team. 

He was done choosing his team in eight.

And he hadn’t selected Blurr. 

Perhaps it was his lightweight plating that had him overlook Blurr entirely as he walked the line in front of thirteen other mechs he had to chose from…well twelve. Of course the first mech he picked had been his friend from the Pits for his team.

 _The Butcher of Polyhex_. 

Blurr hitched slightly in his step at the thought. The way that golden mech looked past a mech as if they weren’t even there sent Blurr’s lines and pistons coiling. Yet only _once_ , as The Golden Butcher stood with his arms crossed in front of himself, he had _glared_ with intent focus at Blurr in the line.

Every circuit in Blurr’s frame had screamed _flee_ when his optics crossed over his frame. No expression on his faceplate, just a slight intense narrowing of his optics towards Blurr standing in the line as he scanned him from helm to pede. 

A predator; targeting prey. 

Blurr’s plating was heavier than it had been prewar when he had been Cybertron’s elite darling racer. During his original enlistment medical assessment with the Autobots, he’d been retrofitted with thicker plating. The extra weight compromised his top speed, but even with denser armor, a hit from a mech like Sunstreaker would send him flying with crumpled plating. 

If he ever managed to catch him. 

No one ever had.

Clearing his first sector of the zone designated for this simulation in an abandoned part of Iacon, he radioed back to base.

::First sector clear::

::Acknowledged, maintain pace until target is sighted then return and report back.::

Report back, because by then Blaster would have jammed their comm signals; precisely the type of mech on the battlefield Blurr was assigned to circumvent. 

Once an elite racer. Now a battlefield courier.

He could fight: had had to pass basic training like everyone else, had to log his sim time like everyone else, had seen so many countless battles he stopped keeping track like everyone else, but his primary role in the Autobot army was to deliver messages from command to separate units once communications were cut.

The primary role Roller assigned him in this simulation: locate the enemy base, assess their defenses, then report back. 

Darting in and out of cover, mindful of potential sniper fire, he worked on clearing the buildings in the second sector. 

Bluestreak was on the other team. The sniper had been the second mech Sideswipe had chosen almost immediately after choosing Sunstreaker. 

A sound choice for this simulation. Bluestreak provided an excellent defense of a flag; provided his position wasn’t compromised. Combined with Trailbreaker, Blaster, and Hound - Roller was expecting to bring a heavy offensive force toward their base once Blurr located it.

In fact, it was _obvious_ Sideswipe had established a strong defensive strategy. He had overlooked heavy hitters like Roller, Cliffjumper, Gears, and Huffer completely after scanning through the list on the datapad Prowl had handed him.

Roller and Bumblebee estimated that based on the mechs the red recruit had chosen for his team they’d be dealing with a heavily guarded flag plus an offensive force including Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and potentially Smokescreen. 

Which is why after Blurr had radioed that the second sector was cleared and entered the third…Blurr skidded to a halt, reset his optics then darted into a building for cover as he processed his shock. Peering out through a broken window he reset his optics again. 

An _unguarded_ flag sat alone in the middle of the road. 

Cortex racing, his first thought was Hound. 

This had to be one of his holograms. 

Tossing a small chunk of metal from the ground toward the flag, Blurr’s optics shot wide when the metal didn’t pass through it - simply sat perfectly on top of that white cybermesh flag, abandoned in the middle of the road. 

Like it had been dropped… 

Darting to a new location, assuming he’d been seen, he tried to establish the enemy team’s defense. 

He commed Roller. 

…His commlink still worked. 

Why wasn’t Blaster jamming their comm systems? 

Something wasn’t right, an obvious trap, and Roller agreed.

::Maintain position, provided you aren’t compromised. Bluestreak, Blaster, and Trailbreaker at _minimum_ should be in the area. We’ll converge on your coordinates, I’m leaving Cliffjumper behind to maintain the barricades. Bumblebee and Mirage are keeping optics on our flag.::

Following orders, Blurr waited as his processor raced. It wouldn’t do for him to run in blindly and be cornered before he could clear the area. He was to travel with rest back to their base so they could provide cover.

It wasn’t enough to just run in and grab the flag, it had to be delivered back to Blurr’s team’s base.

Thirty four breems into the simulation, Roller, Huffer, and Gears arrived in sector three, their commlinks were still active, and no one had seen so much as a glint of reflective plating from the other team.

As Roller grabbed the flag from the middle of the street they all tensed.

Nothing happened…and they cautiously made their way back toward their base with their weapons primed and at the ready.

It just didn’t make any sense and it was making Blurr twitchy.

He swore he could feel the burning feeling of optics on his back plating, as if he was being viewed through a scope. 

_Hunted._

Lines and pistons tensed, prepped for quick action and darting maneuvers.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“I’ve got optics on them. Flag is on the move.”

//They took the bait.// Sunstreaker confirmed Bluestreak’s declaration over his bond to Sideswipe.

Hardly, bait. It was their actual flag.

//Have you found their base yet?// Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s antsy excitement to get moving pulsing through their bond.

Bluestreak had just found their opponents' base three breems and forty two klicks ago, saw the red minibot patrolling behind a barricade through his scope. He confirmed it a few breems later when he saw a white flag through a window of the building five floors up.

Sunstreaker scanned the streets from his place crouched on top of a building next to Bluestreak. Narrowing his optics, he determined the most efficient pattern from where Sideswipe and his team were waiting to head out under the cloak of Hound’s projected copy of an empty street.

Sideswipe had cursed into their bond earlier when Blurr apparently ran straight by them, before heading a few streets away toward where Sideswipe had darted to toss their flag once construction was underway.

A pattern of direction clicked into place. More efficient than the routine the other team was taking to return to their base.

//Two streets, turn left. Three more streets, turn right. One street -//

//Simpler Sunny! We developed codes names for a reason!//

Sunstreaker pinged the equivalent of a frustrated huff through their bond then begrudgingly grumbled, //Rust slug pattern fifteen, turn right, then punch it. We’ll meet you there.//

A preemptive ping pattern of victory was sent along their bond toward him.

//Captain Sideswipe reads his First Mate Sunny loud and clear. Let’s get this show started.//

To Bluestreak, Sunstreaker stated, “Send up the flares. Two blue, one red.”

A battle situation. 

Clear points of what to talk about, clear objectives. Sunstreaker had no problems socializing in battle and had been giving directions to Bluestreak while pointedly not looking at the mech's moving sensor panels.

Battle _banter_ from anyone other than Sideswipe however, he detested as it often confused him, and ignored it as irrelevant. 

Bluestreak nodded then shot the three flares up into the air, “You’re certain Sideswipe understands this code for where he has to go? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

It didn’t make any sense to Sunstreaker either, they were just covering their communication over their bond; the flares meant nothing, just like their signals they pretended to make with their servos and digits to each other. They’d developed this system when they got odd jobs for others after the Pits and the Decepticons, when they had lived on the outskirts of crumbling cities. 

“It’s an old code of ours.” Sunstreaker stated, “Trust me. He knows.”

As Bluestreak grappled and ziplined across the field in play, Sunstreaker scaled buildings in his wake, retrieving Bluestreak’s lines and calculating the most efficient route to the base in sector one.

When the deep thrumming bass reached Sunstreaker’s audials and he saw black smoke billowing up on the horizon, he snapped at Bluestreak to pick up the pace.

And he cursed at Sideswipe over their bond that they hadn’t spent all that time removing the munition loads from those missiles to have one go off early and slam them into a wall.

//You better cut that fragging liability lose before it fires.//

In response Sideswipe nudged his side of their bond open wider, and Sunstreaker focused on following his melody as they closed the distance between them.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

This had to be the most boring simulation Cliffjumper had ever been apart of. Not only did Roller leave him behind while he went to go support Blurr in retrieving the so called ex-Decepticons' team’s flag, _no one_ had even attempted an assault on their base even after he stopped attempting to crouch behind cover. 

Cliffjumper had been looking forward to putting the beat down on one, or both of those two new recruits. 

He didn’t trust ‘em.

Once a Decepticon; always a Decepticon.

Bumblebee had reported flares being shot in the sky seven breems ago, Roller and company were on route back to the base, Blurr keeping pace with them and awaiting ambush. 

Roller repeated his order to Cliffjumper to maintain his position.

Cliffjumper blew a frustrated huff out his vents. He really had been expecting more of a dramatic fight.

“Some ex-gladiators.” He muttered to himself, “Don’t know what all the fuss is abo-“

A deep thrumming vibration reached his audials and he peered out from his place atop the platform behind the first barricade in the center of the street. 

What was -

He cocked his helm, was it getting closer?

A plume of black smoke started to billow out behind buildings, but not from the direction Bumblebee had reported the flares in sector five, what -

The vibrations grew louder, the bass percussive beat resonating through the ground up the barricade and the underlying faint noise of struggling engines as that plume of black smoke drew closer on a cross street and…singing?

What the frag? 

Tilting his helm to the other side he scrunched up his optics as he focused on gaining clearer resolution up the street, it…sounded like one of Blaster’s victory parties. 

::Do you guys hear - What's that rumbling?::

The hard rev of engines accompanied the sound of squealing tires, and a flash of red upon the hill rounded a corner. Descending down toward their base…Cliffjumper felt his optics go huge as he struggled to process _what exactly_ bore down toward him and his team’s base.

::...OH FRAG OH FRAGGING SLAG::

::Cliffjumper a more coherent report please, we are on our way.::

Cliffjumper reset his optics, still trying to comprehend what he was seeing: three mechs towing a mobile platform with four mechs on board, black smoke billowing off a missile mounted on the left side. 

The fragging red ex-gladiator in vehicle mode leading the charge - _towing_ the rusted jagged monstrosity with Hound and Smokescreen in vehicle mode behind him.

And the golden yellow Butcher of Polyhex stood unimpressed on the prow like a Primus damned sparkling ornament. 

::ALL OF THEM. THEIR ENTIRE FRAGGING TEAM.:: Cliffjumper sputtered and shouted into his commlink, ::BUMBLEBEE GET YOUR AFT DOWN HERE!::

As Cliffjumper struggled to mount a defense against Primus knew what, Roller cursed into their commlink, telling him they were on their way. The other team picked up speed down the hill, and as Hound and Smokescreen dropped beside the hunk of smoking rusted metal, they transformed out of vehicle mode and were lifted on board, cramming in tight quarters with the others. 

Sideswipe’s high performance engine revved and roared, left alone to lead the charge as he accelerated.

Spark thumping in Cliffjumper’s casing, he took aim, intent on standing his ground as Bumblebee abandoned his post by the flag to join him.

And for all intents and purposes, it looked like the mechs on board that rolling smoking, platform were having a party - with no intention of slowing down.

The Butcher of Polyhex looked forward, Bluestreak mimicking his posture beside him, but it was the impassive look to their optics that coiled Cliffjumper’s thumping spark tight.

Like death itself bore down upon him. 

“BRING IT ON FRAGGERS! I’LL TAKE YA’LL ON!” Cliffjumper screamed as he took aim. 

All Pits broke lose, and the crazy red Decepticon fragger’s laugher echoed in his team’s wake of flames and ruin.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Forty breems. 

A little over forty breems into the simulation and there wasn’t even a hint of an ostentatious set of red and gold plating. No advanced scouting party to find the other base, not even a hint of internal comm static beyond Roller’s team.

Until three flares shot up from a building in quadrant five, Jazz had become convinced Sideswipe had taken his team into underground access tunnels and Wheeljack suggested they weren’t receiving their location properly on the holographic display.

A short time later a billowing plume of black smoke appeared on the horizon, combined with ominous drumming, and straining engines.

A squeal of tires making a right hand turn entered the cacophony and Prowl zoomed in the monitor toward his new red frontliner leading the charge. 

Sideswipe, Hound and Smokescreen were tethered to -

Prowl reset his optics. There was no other words for it other than a ramshackle rusted barge that Blaster and Trailbreaker ran across to one side to keep it from flipping over under the centripetal force of that right turn. Their weight slammed it back down and they rushed back to the center to counterbalance it. 

Black smoke billowed from its left side. 

“Is that…one of my old trailers?” Optimus asked as he squinted toward the screen, then looked back out to the street below them.

Now that it was pointed out, Prowl saw it. The base of the structure was one of Optimus’ old trailers, left among the quadrant of ruins within Iacon. Scavenged from the field in play, the top had been removed, the sides cut down and the front of it angled into a wedge -

Sunstreaker standing at the prow ridged with his arms crossed, completely unconcerned that the rusted smoking death trap he rode on had almost capsized, and Bluestreak stood beside him in a mimicking pose. 

Trailer straightened, they began their descent down the hill. Those towing, gunned their engines until the line Hound was attached to went slack. On the barge, Trailbreaker and Blaster cut Hound and Smokescreen’s lines. 

The two in vehicle mode, dropped back, allowing the barge to run parallel to them as it accelerated down the hill. Transforming, Trailbreaker grabbed Hound by his forearm while Blaster did the same to Smokescreen, hauling them both up into the trailer-made smoking barge.

"Are they...singing drinking songs?" Ironhide's question explained why Jazz was laughing so hard at the music Blaster was blaring from his speakers. 

Trailbreaker removed a cube of hi-grade from his subspace and tossed into his intake. 

“Are they _drinking_?!” Wheeljack’s audial horns spiked pink in alarm.

“They named it after ME?!” Ratchet raged as he zoomed up on a monitor toward a messy scrawled glyph on the side that Prowl swore read _The Hatchet_ and not Ratchet.

But Prowl’s focus snapped back on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, waiting for nothing but the best to be displayed as the golden mech had promised. 

Sideswipe gunned his engine, gaining more speed down the hill, approaching the stunned Cliffjumper scrambling to mount a defense against - 

What ever the Pit this was.

There was no way they could slow their descent before they hit Roller’s team’s barricades. 

_This was “suicide.”_

They’d be rendered inoperable for the rest of the simulation. 

Yet as Sideswipe transformed, he flipped upward in an arch, severing his own tow line in the same movement as Trailbreaker walked _through_ Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, their holographic imagines sputtering out.

Outstretching his servos before him, Trailbreaker’s forcefield sprang to life, and so too did Sideswipe’s jet pack. Using the sudden presence of the forcefield to change his direction and flip up and twist over the left side of the barge, he sliced off the smoking _missile?_ \- they had live missiles in this sim? - and grabbed onto the back of the trailer. 

And punched it. 

Jets of flame shot off the sides of the barge as Smokescreen and Blaster ignited the mounted missles on either side, Trailbreaker at the helm, and Sideswipe trailing at the stern propelling it faster with his jet pack. 

Over the music; chants of _Cutter_ could be heard from Sideswipe’s team.

Onward they propelled, smashing straight through the sequence of three barricades using Trailbreaker as a Primus damned battering ram with deactivated missiles mounted to the side of their barge and Sideswipe’s jet pack as propellants. 

As Sideswipe went shooting off in a spiral up in the air back up the street then out of sight around a building, Prowl registered that Roller’s team had arrived at the top of the hill. They looked stunned in the smoking wake. They must have watched Sideswipe’s _entire team_ shoot straight through their defenses and wedge to a halt in the bottom floor of their base. 

No. 

Not the entire team. 

“It’s a distraction,” Prowl stated. “Bluestreak and Sunstreaker were holograms.”

Where were they?

Prowl’s spark rate increased along with his battle processor. 

By the All Spark, why had Prowl never considered using Trailbreaker’s forcefield as a battering ram?

Because he’d constrained Trailbreaker’s profile with the limits of his slow speed and fuel consumption…

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

//CHANGE OF PLAN!//

Sunstreaker and Bluestreak had just gotten into position precisely on time when Sideswipe went flying by their window, a uncontrolled jet of flames behind him and screaming into their bond.

//You blew a control valve. I told you not to push too -//

//You told me to punch it. Less grumble more solutions!//

“Uh, wasn’t Sideswipe suppose to meet you for a frontline charge so I can get in position?” Bluestreak pipped up next to him.

“His valve is too fragging hot.” Sunstreaker grumbled out by way of explanation as his cooling fans clicked on, resisting the urge to sync to go save his idiot special spark. 

Instead he glanced out the window to assess their opponents descending toward their base and looking over their shoulders in the direction Sideswipe had flown in a spiral uncontrollably over them.

A red minibot beneath Sunstreaker’s position a few stories down was digging himself out of rubble.

//Vos maneuver seven.// Sunstreaker sent through their bond.

All Sideswipe sent back was an incoherent jumble of excited pings of approval and agreement.

“Change of plan, Vos maneuver seven. I need one of your grappling lines, a long one.” Sunstreaker held his servo toward Bluestreak, “I’ll cover you as you get into position.”

There was no response, Bluestreak didn’t move from beside him. Sunstreaker looked to the side to see what he missed: Bluestreak’s sensor panel’s had stilled, his optics were wide, and his mouth was hanging open.

Sunstreaker didn’t have time to figure out what that combination meant or what social cue he had missed. 

Worried? He settled for worried.

“Roller’s big, but I’ve taken bigger.” Bluestreak made a squeak out of his vocalizer at Sunstreaker’s attempt at reassurance, and Sunstreaker definitely didn’t know what that meant so he huffed out, “You worry about your position, we’ll worry about the frontlines.”

“…frontlines. Right.”

“Grappling hook.” Sunstreaker motioned with his servo. 

“…Grappling hook, hot valve, taken bigger…Got it.” Bluestreak nodded slowly, and reached into his subspace, passing Sunstreaker a coiled grappling line. 

Sunstreaker nodded back before he narrowed his optics and calculated the distance to the red minibot just starting to stand a few stories beneath him.

At least Bluestreak had been paying attention.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“As soon as you see an opening, run the flag back to our base.”

Numbly Blurr reached forward to grab the flag from Roller as his processor scrambled to piece together what had just happened.

A massive, smoking hole had been punched straight through their sequence of three barricades they spent two joors erecting…in a matter of klicks. 

Their entire team.

They had brought Trailbreaker and Blaster on the _offensive_. Blaster didn’t even have a mobile alt mode. 

It was difficult to see what was going on in their own base. Blaster had now jammed all comm signals in the area so they couldn’t receive a report from Mirage. Smokescreen had deployed his magnetized cloud of smoke in the last position Blurr had seen Bumblebee ambush the mech. That combined with the black smoke billowing from their mobile base…

A mobile base?

Their entire team.

Blurr reset his optics. 

No. Sideswipe went careening off to Primus knows where over head on his jet pack -

“Sideswipe’s still out here.” Blurr stated more to himself then as a warning to the others.

“With the way his jet pack was shooting flames I don’t think we’ll have to worry. He’ll burn through those reserves quickly.” Roller stated. “We give Blurr the cover he needs to find an opening.”

Blasters at the ready, Roller led Huffer and Brawn forward toward their base to provide support. 

Further ahead by the ruptured barricade, rubble moved and Cliffjumper pushed himself out, removing the metal trapping his legs with a scowl. 

The dust and debris at their base was starting to clear in the distance and Blurr thought he spotted an opening. Prepping his pistons to move, his spark raced in anticipation. 

There was no way the other team could possibly intercept him before -

A flash of yellow dropped straight on top of Cliffjumper, knocking his newly standing form flat on his front. In the same instant a practice blade descended on the back of Cliffjumpers spinal strut at the base of his neck.

Cliffjumper went limp, and the cold blue optics of the Butcher of Polyhex snapped forward in their direction, then narrowed. 

Blurr’s fuel pump hammered as his spark coiled in knots, unconcerned with the knowledge this was a _simulation_. Under the expressionless glare of the Butcher of Polyhex, Blurr hesitated. 

The golden yellow mech didn’t have a scratch on him.

Roller and the others opened fire on the mech. Flicking up a plate of metal debris as a temporary cover with his pede, Sunstreaker blocked disrupter bolts. Threats streamed from Cliffjumper’s vocalizer as Sunstreaker shot off two red flares into the sky, darted through a broken door at the base of a building on their right, with the red minibot’s limp frame clutched in his servo.

Up at their base Blaster cut the music from his speakers. 

The street was empty.

Their base still billowed smoke from the other team’s assault.

The abrupt silence was deafening in Blurr’s audials. 

“Cliffjumper stated they were all in that assault,” Blurr whispered, “How’d he get up there to drop -“

“Maintain formation, comm signals are jammed. Advance up the center of the street. If we get Blurr his opening, we win. No one can catch him.”

Blurr smirked, his regular confidence returning as he looked at the straight path to their base, “And they just cleared me a race track.”

Brawn and Huffer returned to defensive positions beside Roller, and shielding Blurr. As one, they advanced down the center of the street, scanning their surroundings for further ambush. 

A flash of red and yellow darted out a second story window to their right, and for a klick, Blurr wondered how Sideswipe had joined Sunstreaker. But it wasn’t Sideswipe who ran along with the deadly golden yellow mech. Sunstreaker ran alone, across the narrow top of the barricade, leaping over the gap his team had blown in it, swinging a grappling hook in his right hand and holding the red plated _Cliffjumper_ in his left.

Blurr fidgeted, prepped to run, spark hammering against its casing as the ex-gladiator’s expressionless gaze shot toward them.

“He’s using Cliffjumper as a fragging shield, my bolts won’t hit him.” Brawn spat, as a cursing Cliffjumper, legs and arms dangling from the simulated nerve circuit cluster injury of his spinal strut, was moved to intercept incoming blaster bolts. 

Leaping off the barricade, Sunstreaker ricocheted by running a few steps along the wall before gravity brought him onto the street. The mech advanced up the side of the street toward them, armed only with Cliffjumper and a spinning grappling hook.

Heavy pede steps echoed off the buildings around them, his intense narrowed gaze roved over all of them, then Blurr swore those hard optics locked directly on himself behind Roller, and his previous confidence melted away under the intensity of the glare.

Clamping his plating down tight, despite his systems’ need for free flowing ventilation through his expansive network of fans, he fought the phantom feeling of that mech already tearing his plating and limbs from his frame.

It was in his optics. He wanted to take them apart.

 _The Butcher of Polyhex._

Blurr couldn’t keep his spark rate from increasing as the story echoed through his cortex.

Legend had it that the mech advancing toward him had butchered his way though over fifty mechs, comrades and enemies alike, in less than five breems. 

Unbidden, Blurr took a few steps back, pistons and pneumatic lines pressurizing in preparation for evasive maneuvers as _The Golden Butcher_ closed the distance between them on his frontline assault. 

Alone. 

…Armed with a grappling hook?

Blurr’s plating relaxed a fraction.

…there was no way he could take them all on.

Motion caught Blurr’s attention out of the corner of his optic, the back of his processor registered it as Bluestreak but his focus was locked on Sunstreaker bearing toward them. 

“Something’s wrong.” Blurr stated as his ventilations increased, forcing him to flare out the plating from his frame. The walls were closing in on him, and he couldn’t explain it. Bluestreak had just ziplined out of a building from their right moving away from them toward their base, why wasn’t he providing cover fire for Sunstreaker?

“Doesn’t matter.” Huffer stated as he continued shooting toward the advancing mech, only to hit Cliffjumper again in the chestplate, “Shiny, arrogant aft thinks he can take us all on.”

“No, Blurr’s right,” Roller shifted his stance, “something’s not -“

Ten frame lengths away from them Sunstreaker struck.

In one fluid movement the mech jumped to the side, and with a twist to his frame, launched the grappling hook straight toward Blurr’s face. 

Blurr took two rapid steps in reverse. Leaning back, the grappling hook skimmed over his frame without touching him, and he looked up to see Cliffjumper’s frame flying through the air attached to the other side of the line. 

Resisting the urge to reset his optics, Blurr watched, stunned as the grappling hook snagged on the back of one of Roller’s shoulder pauldrons and pulled taught as Cliffjumper hit the end of the line. 

The sound of shattering transmetal glass precluded a roar of sputtering ignition and a streak of bright flaming red and black collided with the air-born Cliffjumper in a crash of plating. Victorious laughter echoed in the wake of Sideswipe, propelled by his jet pack, where he had shot out of a second story window over Sunstreaker's spinning form, catching Cliffjumper in mid air, and clinging to him.

Roller solidified his stance to avoid being dragged off his pedes, inadvertently providing an anchor point as Sideswipe clung ever tighter to Cliffjumper attached to the end of the line. With the grappling hook snagged tight into a gap on Roller’s armor, the insanely cackling red mech swung in spiraling concentric circles, wrapping tighter and tighter around them. 

As the heavy duty cord of one of Bluestreak’s ziplines looped around the entire group, Blurr jumped over the first, then second pass. 

Except as Blurr kept jumping the cord threatening to entangle himself together with Huffer and Brawn already pinned and cursing at Roller’s side, he registered Sunstreaker doing the same. 

The difference was, Sunstreaker virtually leapt and twirled over that rope without visible effort, while simultaneously and precisely disrupting the shoulder and leg joints of his trapped opponents. 

Blurr swore he heard Sunstreaker’s cooling fans click and whirr to life over Sideswipe’s maniacal laughing taunt.

Something about commanding the rust sea and the skies of Vos themselves.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

“Captain Sideswipe and his Sunny command the Rust Sea and the turbulent skies of Vos themselves!”

Prowl continued to watch in fascination as Sunstreaker flipped over the coiling cord, twisting his arm out in the middle of the motion, and simultaneously slicing directly through the elbow joint of Roller’s right arm. The large mech dropped his blaster with the resulting simulated injury. 

The coordination and precision between the two mechs was, quite frankly, astounding.

With their communications jammed, Sunstreaker had advanced up the left side of the street, using Cliffjumper as a makeshift shield and armed with a grappling hook. 

“They are quite innovative.” Wheeljack beamed, as his audial horns flashed orange along with his field in his delight, “Sideswipe blew a nozzle that controls the thrust of his jetpack, yet the two of them continued on seamlessly to not only snag Sideswipe safely out of the sky, but to entrap almost half of their opponents.” 

The Autobot scientist had been practically vibrating in his excitement as soon as Sideswipe ricocheted off Trailbreaker’s forcefield combined with the use of the base of one of Optimus’ old trailers a battering ram. 

Now Wheeljack was _definitely_ vibrating on his pedes.

“He has snagged that grappling hook to a main support strut running straight through Roller’s frame.” Ratchet observed with concentrated focus.

“Clearly they’ve practiced this maneuver before.” Prowl pointed out, intending on diverting Ratchet’s observation of Sunstreaker’s apparent medical training back toward the combat displayed before them. “The precision involved in Sunstreaker throwing the grappling hook and the counterbalance for Sideswipe to grab simultaneously, then continuing forward to leap the line and disable their opponents demonstrate -“

“Counter balance!?” Ironhide protested, “The mech used Cliffjumper as a living shield and tossed ‘em up like yesterday’s slag. On a battlefield, Cliffjumper’d be dead.”

“On a battlefield Cliffjumper would be a _Decepticon_.” Prowl corrected, sensor panels spiking slightly in irritation at the weapons specialist as he watched Sunstreaker roll low to the ground to avoid the cord while slashing through Roller’s knee joints. “He could be executing killing blows. He’s not.” 

“Sparkles is showing off.” Jazz stated from his place perched on the railing, before he glanced pointedly at Prowl. 

“Or that mech enjoys having his opponents suffer.” Ironhide objected as he crossed his arms in front of himself.

Prowl risked a glance toward Optimus. 

The leader of the Autobots simply continued to observe the field in play before him as his members of High Command made observations of their new recruits around him. 

Throughout the entire simulation, beyond recognizing the remains of one of his old trailers, the Prime had yet to say a word.

“Mechs have lost the sim though, no way they’ll catch Blurr. Not with that runway they made him straight into their base.”

Jazz’s voice drew Prowl’s attention back toward the field in play, where Blurr was making a dash straight toward the broken barricades.

And the Autobot battlefield courier had a head start.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Blurr only took a klick to process that rest of his team had been wrapped tight in a rope with immobilized legs and arm joints. Sideswipe’s jet pack finally ran out of fuel with a few final sputters and he landed with a derisive pat on Cliffjumper’s head, before Blurr seized his opening, threw his vents open wide, angled his plating and took off toward the base. 

He could still win this. 

High performance engines revving behind him indicated the ex-gladiators had entered their vehicle modes to purse him.

Pointless. Even out of his vehicle mod, they couldn’t catch Blurr with the head start he had, definitely not with that armor weighting them down. 

As Blurr ran through the gap the other team had rammed through their defensive barricade, he risked a glance behind him to see the two ex-gladiators transform and launch over the top of the first barricade, pushing off it and leaping to the next.

“HOIST THE FLAG LADS.” Sideswipe’s voice ordered from behind him, as a dagger went whizzing past Blurr’s head, severing a rigging line constructing the third barricade and causing some of the unstable rubble to collapse partially into his path.

It hardly lost him a klick or two as he leapt over it.

From the smoking twisted ruins of their battering ram before him, Smokescreen and Blaster cut two other lines, and a one story tall, bright red Autobot insignia snapped up, looming between Blurr and his base.

Slowing a fraction, he darted to his right around it, scanning for the rest of the opposing team to avoid as his cortex wondered why the frag Sideswipe’s team had taken the time to draw an optic patch on the Autobot symbol, and painted two crossing swords beneath it. 

The deep ominous spark thumping percussion of bass emitted out of Blaster’s speakers again, and Blurr pretended the vibrations in the ground it created was from his cheering and stomping fans from the past. The corner of his optic spotted Bumblebee, bound tight and poised at the edge of -

His head whipped to the side.

\- was that a plank?

Hound strolled out of the base to Blurr’s right with a protesting Mirage tied and hoisted over his shoulder twirling Blurr’s team’s flag in his servo. 

Blurr couldn’t help but gape at Hound shuttering an optic toward him as he ran a little more to his left to avoid firing range.

Assuming they had placed traps in the main entry way to Blurr’s base, he diverted toward a boarded up window further around to the right. He could blast through and -

He got knocked backwards. Scrambling back up to standing, the ex-gladiators bore down toward him, but Blurr was up, pistons and pneumatic lines firing, flag clenched tight in his servo, he accelerated -

\- and hit an invisible wall. 

Spark racing, he turned to his right to see Sunstreaker execute a flip and twist over a zipline network Bluestreak had strung up in front of the building. Sideswipe slid underneath the line that had snagged Blurr and crowed in his face before jumping onto Sunstreaker’s back only to be promptly shoved off with a snarl.

But Blurr’s processor was struggling to understand, why hadn’t he seen the ziplines?

_Hound._

Whipping his head toward the mech, Hound had the audacity to wave at him. Hound had erased the ziplines from the visible spectrum into the surroundings.

Trapped. 

Impossible.

Blurr moved around the invisible domed force surrounding him, banging on the inside. How had -

“ _Trailbreaker…_ ”

Trailbreaker silent presence behind him had gone unnoticed as Blurr had focused on the advancing ex-gladiators bearing down on him. The Autobot defense strategist was kneeling in the center of his forcefield dome.

His _panic bubble_.

“You got me confused with another mech, I’m afraid you’re talkin’ to Trail _cutter_.”

“…Excuse me?” Blurr squeaked. Madness. Everyone in this simulation had gone mad. 

Blurr was _trapped_.

Surrounded in a small space. His spark was racing. 

There was no where to run.

“‘Cutter for short. On Captain Sideswipe’s crew, no mech gets left behind. Something about a reverse pirate code. Don’t worry. My panic bubble won’t last the full twenty breems. Don’t have a lot of fuel left, but,” he nodded to where Bluestreak was retracting a zipline as Hound patted the grey sniper on the back, “You’re the last mech standing from your team.”

Blurr reset his optics at the chaos surrounding him. 

Sideswipe slapped an optic patch on Sunstreaker and fled as Sunstreaker, engine roaring, grabbed the grappling line with Bluestreak still attached to it, and chased after the _indignantly squawking_ red mech.

One of the deactivated missiles on the edge of their ramshackle barge fizzled and popped, then exploded in a burst of flame.

Hound, laughing about taking his share of the booty with a protesting Mirage tied up over his shoulder, hoisted the captured flag up next to the massive painted Autobot insignia wearing a black optic patch.

Smokescreen led a final charge with Blaster toward where Roller and the others were still tied up, with useless limbs. They didn’t make it far before they collapsed in heaps of laughter with their arms around each other’s shoulders.

And Sideswipe’s voice could be heard above Blasters thrumming music, from where he ran across the top of a barricade, Sunstreaker tight at his heels and Bluestreak scrambling to catch up still attached to the line Sunstreaker had clenched in his servo. The Golden Butcher smirked as he spun a grappling hook ominously after the red mech who was currently squealing:

“MUTINY! FIRST MATE SUNNY IS LEADING A MUTINY!”

“What…the frag just happened?” Blurr muttered as he looked to Trailbreaker.

Trailbreaker’s field pulsed in amusement and pride.

“I’ll tell you what, Primus dammit, but Captain Sideswipe can lead me straight to into the Well. On this cycle the slowest mobile alt-capable Autobot caught the fastest.” 

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Prowl reset his optics at the scene below him. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak had turned on Sideswipe, who was now running haphazardly around screaming about a mutiny. 

“They’ve won.” Prowl stated. “No one left on that other team can move, and with the exception of Cliffjumper killed by his own team…no casualties.”

"What the frag? They aren’t even attempting to bring their flag back to their starting position.” Ironhide stared down in bafflement.

Prowl had expected something grand when he challenged the two of them but this…his battle computer was struggling to incorporate the information he’d learned.

Bluestreak hadn’t fired a single shot, had only used his ziplines defensively.

Trailbreaker had been used on the offensive as a battering ram, then to imprison Blurr.

Blaster spent more time providing theme music for setting the mood than jamming comm signals.

Hound and Smokescreen’s missiles were use as propellants.

And Sideswipe and Sunstreaker: their level of coordination, their potential vorns of practiced maneuvers together…

"They are _playing_.” Jazz interrupted Prowl from increasing his battle computer higher with a nudge on his shoulder. His cortex was starting to ache under the assualt. “They don't take this seriously. Think about it. You give mechs like those weapons with safeties on them and they are just going to joke around."

"Then what do you suggest we do to assess them?” Ironhide interjected.

"We make a new sim, make them think it's real.” Jazz shrugged as he pointed down, “Put one of ‘em in danger.” 

"You do that, and I promise you, an Autobot is going to end up dead.” Rung's voice cut through observation platform startling everyone, his quiet presence observing the simulation long forgotten.

"You saying you think they’ll turn on us. Kill some ‘Bots.” Jazz’s visor flared.

Rung pushed himself back from the railing furthest away from the rest of them and stepped forward.

"I know they have had to kill, as do you. Everyone here knows that. What I'm saying is you can not assess their combat skills without a real battle. Real danger." Looking directly at Ironhide, Rung asked, "What is the first rule you cover with green recruits when you hand them a weapon?"

"Don't point your gun at anyone you ain't willin' to kill.” Ironhide narrowed his optics toward Rung.

“Precisely.” Rung pointed off to the side over the railing, but all optics were on the Autobot psychotherapist. “You treat those new recruits out there like a live weapon. You don't play around with their emotions. To them, it's serious or it's not."

Optimus stepped forward his full attention on Rung. "What do you suggest we do to assess their combat abilities? Their team work ability?”

"You seriously think that's necessary?” Rung shook his head in exasperation. “Those two mechs have been surviving for the majority of the war on their own. They only came in because they lacked resources to keep going without any help.”

“Sunstreaker passed out in the Medbay because he doesn’t trust us enough to put them both in medical stasis at the same time. That mech collapsed offline, he ran himself so low on fuel,” Ratchet interjected, “I won’t share the details of the state Sideswipe was in, but it wasn’t good.”

“Then I hear you assigned them an impossible task to haze and _welcome_ them into the ranks.” Rung continued on, “Those mechs have been outside of society for vorns, with only each other to trust. They aren’t green civilians coming in off the streets. They are survivors. You treat them like a live weapon in real combat situations, or you are going to have collateral damage."

“Are you speaking about Sunstreaker and why you don't want him to see combat?” Optimus asked, probing yet respecting Rung’s patient confidentiality. 

Prowl knew Optimus would trust a simple yes or no answer from Rung, and Prowl’s fuel tank’s sank, starting to form a pit with the direction of this conversation.

“No,” Rung shook his head and Prowl felt his sensor panels raise and flare out in surprise, “Both of those mechs already know they are weapons, and assessing their combat skills like this is a joke to them. I don’t know how they trained in the Pits but I promise you, they did not have safeties.”

Ironhide shifted uncomfortably from beside Prowl, and Jazz’s visored gaze was riveted on Rung as the smaller orange mech removed his glasses, only to lock his gaze on Optimus.

“The question remains Optimus, will you give those two mechs the opportunity to be more than weapons among the Autobots. Will you give them the opportunity to be mechs with a promise of life beyond fighting for survival?”

The stunned silence left in the wake of Rung's question echoed uncomfortably until two grappling hooks clinked and snagged against the railing, hooking over the edge of the command deck. Startled, Prowl rush to the edge with everyone else. 

And there were their two new recruits scaling up the side of the command deck when Prowl knew damn well they didn't need those ropes to scale up here. 

"The simulation is over!" Ironhide called down to them. 

But they kept coming, optics hard, Sideswipe had that rusted knife he claimed was a souvenir from the spelunking in the caverns of the Acid Wastes in his mouth, and Sunstreaker was climbing beside him, wearing an optic patch.

"Are they coming to assassinate Prime?” Ironhide asked with some hesitance.

"We are looking straight at them,” Wheeljack shook his head, “that's a horrible plan."

The command staff looked to Optimus, who continued to watch the recruits climb and that pit in Prowl’s fuel tank grew larger. As they got closer to the top, Optimus extended his blade. Slicing their ropes in a single decisive movement, he caused them to tumble and fall, and both of them extended their real blades to help slow their descent in the wall. 

When they landed, Sideswipe grinned up at Optimus then called toward his team without breaking optic contact with the Leader of the Autobots. 

"Gather the hostages, back to the ship!" Sideswipe’s voice echoed over the chaos and his crew gathered back toward their melting and smoke belching barge poised under a massive sheet of metal displaying the Autobot insignia…wearing an black optic patch. 

Blaster with Smokescreen could barely stand under the force of their laughter as they tried to drag the tangled and baffled Roller tied up with three minibots back to the barge. All three minitbots were cursing up a storm. Bumblebee was free from his restraints, apparently had switched sides, as he worked to help Hound recapture an escaping Mirage. Trailbreaker sported a face splitting grin as he tied up a protesting Blurr. 

"What the frag is going on? Has everyone lost their processor chips? The simulation’s done, the flag has been captured, why the frag are you taking _hostages _!?” Ironhide yelled over the loud speakers.__

__Prowl’s spark sank and the pit fully formed in his fuel tank as he watched Optimus lean over the edge. Surveying the chaos, with a pede resting on the railing, he could practically hear Rung’s words echoing in the Prime’s cortex and aching in the Matrix attached to his spark._ _

__As Optimus turned to his command crew and smirked along with glimmering optics, Prowl knew he’d lost his bid for both as frontliners despite Sunstreaker's display of skill and their astounding coordination in the simulation._ _

__"Batten down the hatches, and gather the troops mechs.” Optimus’ booming voice rang out, “We've got ourselves an infestation of pirates.”_ _

__And as if on a battlefield, Optimus snapped his mouthplate shut and launched himself off the observation deck the full seven stories down. Landing hard, Prowl could hear Ratchet complaining about damage to Optimus’ knee joints again._ _

__Optimus rose from his crouch to meet Sideswipe’s wide frozen optics from where the red mech had spun around to gape at the Prime._ _

__“Pirate Queen Optimus would like to finalize negotiations with Captain Sideswipe and his First Mate Sunstreaker about their desired acquisition of Autobot red face thingies.”_ _

__Prowl’s spark twisted and clenched to registered that Sunstreaker had abandoned any pretense of their _game_ and dropped to a knee of his own, helm down, servo crossed over his chestplate - in subservience as he would have to Megatron._ _

__Ignoring it, Optimus kept his focus on Sideswipe’s optics, whose attention shifted to Sunstreaker, and he nudged the golden mech softly with his pede until he rose to stand next to him._ _

__And Prowl's battle computer offered up the potential solution he needed to get them deployed together under his command._ _

He needed Sideswipe's support.

And Sideswipe would be under his direct command shortly.

As the red mech grinned wide toward Optimus, Prowl smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *FLUMPS* Fight scenes will be the death of me. But I love them so.
> 
> You may notice that some Autobots POV refer to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker simply as friends. Only the Autobot High Command, and Rung have been told of Jazz's conclusion that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are conjunx endura. That will be coming to a head in a few chapters, and you'll learn more about what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker know about spark bonds. (Hint: Sideswipe doesn't like talking about how or why Sunstreaker knows spark stuff, and Sunny's not telling Sideswipe everything he knows) XD
> 
> [Observations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10411191/chapters/24329502) companion chapter of how Sideswipe and Sunstreaker chose their crew. Because Sideswipe couldn't read a word on that datapad Prowl handed him.
> 
> And poor Bluestreak...after the conversation with Jazz about listening to cooling fans he hears Sunstreaker's click on while he's told that Sideswipe's "valve is too fragging hot" mid-battle. 
> 
> Also poor Sunstreaker. Those innuendoes went straight over his head, certain components of a mechs frame were deemed irrelevant to him, and Sideswipe has not enlightened him for his own reasons. Sunstreaker has no clue about interfacing beyond jacking into a medical port.
> 
> Both the twin's cooling fans will click on in a way that sounds like arousal, when they are struggling not to bond sync during danger or when they are having fun. It's their frame's way of compensating for the stress of not syncing. For them, syncing is a form of arousal, a high and feels better than anything else they have ever felt... and it hurts to ignore it. Sunstreaker more often than not is struggling not to respond, as Sideswipe almost constantly sings silly songs to him over their bond or simply lacks the self control to focus.


	22. Tattered Remnants

“So then Captain Sideswipe goes careening off with his jet pack without telling us he’s changed the plan, and Trailbreaker here - ”

“Trail _cutter_.” 

“‘Cuz he _cut_ straight through those barricades! And ya’ll left ‘em sucking your exhaust ports!”

“How’d you know that’d even work…”

“…heard he used jumper as a living shield to take down Roller.”

“- without missing a beat, First Mate Sunstreaker here knew exactly how Captain Sideswipe changed the plan, announces “Vos maneuver seven” to me, asks for a grappling line and I don’t know what the frag he’s talking about because Sideswipe just went shooting past the window when he was supposed to meet Sunstreaker for a frontline charge but they’ve been traveling together so long they have all kinds of secret codes with flares and hand signals so I’m guessing that’s what Sideswipe did when he went shooting past right Sunstreaker?“

“… _Trailcutter_ takes control after the Captain goes flying off, tells Hound to go sniff out his booty, then bee jump’s on my aft out of no where…”

A crowd of Autobots surrounded Sunstreaker. He stood off to the side of behind where Sideswipe sat on a table.

Their crew stood amongst the crowd, sharing their stories or answering the questions of the events of their "show" they put on for Prowl and Autobot High Command, to other Autobots who had not been present.

But even knowing the _context_ of the conversation, Sunstreaker was still lost within the dizzying pace, and his cortex got stuck focusing on the illogical inconsistencies. 

No one had sucked anyone’s exhaust ports. That didn’t make any strategic sense - even by Sideswipe’s illogical standards. Jumper was a word, but in no way was it a noun that could be used as a shield. He had no clue what the frag a “bee” was and why would it jump on Smokescreen’s aft out of no where…

“Right Sunstreaker?”

Lost in his own processor Sunstreaker narrowed his optics as he stared at Smokescreen’s aft.

The mech was leaning back against the table next to Sideswipe. There were a few gaps on his aft plating, perhaps a “bee” was an infiltration or hacking device designed to -

“Hand signals, my mech.” Digits snapped in front of his optical feed, and Sunstreaker snapped his attention away from where he had been staring at transformation seams of Smokescreen’s aft looking for evidence of infiltration, toward a chuckling Jazz and Bluestreak standing beside him. “I’d love to hear more about those hand signals of yours and these maneuver codes the two of you developed.” 

Jerking his processor away from attempting to categorize the dizzying pace of the conversations surrounding him and cross reference the extensive emotional expressions with his files, Sunstreaker stared from Bluestreak to Jazz.

Both mechs staring at him.

_Expectant._

Sunstreaker’s fuel pump increased in pace.

Grasping for the right pattern of socialization response Jazz was expecting from him based on the conversations surrounding him, words Sunstreaker knew, but weren’t being used in a proper context, clashed with faceplate and frame movement combinations; spiraling and spinning in his processor.

Jazz was staring at him, through a _visor_. 

The mech’s mouth was technically stretched into what was a ‘smile’ though the subtle individual smiles Jazz was capable of had yet to be categorized by Sunstreaker. Visor light changed in intensity, but it was incapable of narrowing or widening or shifting to look to the side so Sunstreaker could only guess that Jazz was actually looking at him and not beyond him. 

Worse: Sideswipe had warned Sunstreaker that Jazz could laugh even when issuing a reprimand after he found Sideswipe stuffing extra rations into his subspace. 

Jazz had laughed just now, but Sunstreaker hadn’t said or did anything funny, and for once he had kept his engine silent hoping to be ignored while remaining part of the group.

At a loss, Sunstreaker sent a ping asking for assistance along the bond to Sideswipe, only to receive an absent cheerful guess at a conclusion of the pattern in return. 

Sunstreaker’s fuel tank sank and twisted. 

He wasn’t playing their youngling game.

Breaking optic contact, he physically looked toward Sideswipe for help, and Sunstreaker’s spark rate started to increase when he noticed Trailbreaker had moved into his line of sight to Sideswipe. 

The mass of gathered mechs in the middle of the multipurpose room closed in around him: laughing, talking, following indecipherably quick social patterns, jostling each other, servos bringing cubes of hi-grade up to their lips or extending syphon straws under faceplates like Creator had - 

Deleting that line of code as a sharp well of guilt and panic lanced through his spark, Sunstreaker clamped his plating tight to his frame. 

The knowledge that there were invisible electromagnetic fields transmitting emotions that could decode the socialization pattern he always missed, oozing about him undetected by him, felt paradoxically stifling yet rang hollow in his segregation from within the group. 

Deep fears rose and he stuffed them down, clenching his servos tight.

Revving his engine in frustrated irritation, Sunstreaker scowled as Trailbreaker moved forward and Sideswipe casually slapped the mech on the back, pulling him in and laughing as Smokescreen tossed an arm around Sideswipe on the other side. 

Slinking away along their bond, Sunstreaker glared at the empty cubes Sideswipe had set on the table behind himself. 

He _knew_ this would happen again.

Sunstreaker was on his own.

Stealing himself for an exhausting attempt at socialization without Sideswipe, he turned back toward Bluestreak -

And froze.

Despite there still being a smile on Bluestreak’s faceplate, it was not the smile Sunstreaker had already categorized as his ‘friendly smile.’ Glancing toward Bluestreak’s sensor panels for a clue to what his field might be doing, they had dropped low as he stared back at Sunstreaker.

And Sunstreaker’s fuel tank contorted uncomfortably knowing what the possible permutations of that tight smile combined with low sensor panels meant - 

Sunstreaker was being _weird_.

“You wouldn’t understand them.” He snapped out in his frustration toward Jazz and his fragging _visor_. Turning, he stormed away from the group before he could speak or act in a way that would make the Autobots recoil from him. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

Autobots parted before him in the path of his direct line of escape from their stifling fields he couldn’t feel.

Bluestreak moved to follow him, but Jazz put a servo on his arm and shook his head while saying something Sunstreaker couldn’t hear over the sound of his own revving engine and purposefully stomping pedes.

Fighting a battle within himself, he followed Sideswipe’s instructions to be louder when he walked so he didn’t startle Autobots by appearing silently behind them.

No field, meant they didn’t know he was around.

No field, meant he had to make his presence known.

No field, meant other mechs found him _creepy_.

Did it mean Bluestreak also thought he was creepy now?

Had his field recoiled from Sunstreaker as his sensor panels drooped?

Drooping Praxian sensor panels: Sunstreaker had categorized that movement based on extrapolating what he had seen in Shockwave’s lab when he studied the Praxian frame model.

Like all the faceplate, frame movements, and vocalizations he had secretly collected at to mimic in the mirror, Sunstreaker had learned over the vorns all those movements and shapes from home meant sadness, pain -

Or _terror_.

Combine the low sensor panels with a smile that was tighter around the edges, and the widening of optics indicated that Bluestreak was placating Sunstreaker, or attempting to hide his fear, or Sunstreaker made him uncomfortable, or -

//Sunny wait - I’m sorry, I got distracted. Come back and catch me up, yea? What did I miss?//

//It doesn’t matter.// Sunstreaker lied as he diverted his pain away from his bond connecting his spark to Sideswipe. //The hi-grade pollutes my communication data anyway.//

Finding the most strategic empty place where he could observe the entire multipurpose recreation room and still be close enough to the exit, Sunstreaker leaned against a wall and crossed his arms in front of himself. 

Before the hi-grade had started flowing, Sunstreaker had attempted to memorize and decipher Smokescreen’s sensor panel positions while Sideswipe told him over their bond what his EM field was doing. Smokescreen had a berth next to theirs in the barracks, and Sideswipe had proposed using Smokescreen as a baseline so Sunstreaker could learn to read Bluestreak’s dizzying pace with his sensor panel movements.

Glancing from Sideswipe toward Bluestreak, the grey Autobot he had been partnered with in the simulation smiled and waved in his direction; Sunstreaker quickly looked away and pretended he hadn’t noticed. Tanks twisting in impending dread, he hoped Sideswipe would maintain enough function to keep Bluestreak away for now. 

Sideswipe wanted him to make friends with Bluestreak, but every time Sunstreaker looked toward the grey Autobot, all he could feel the familiar uncertain pit of failure forming in his tanks. 

The hypothesis Sideswipe proposed however; was sound. 

If Sunstreaker could decipher the Praxian frame sensor panel language, it gave him a visual representation of the mech’s mood beyond the EM fields he had no concept of. 

To Sunstreaker though, it simply gave him another daunting amount of communication pattern combinations to attempt to quantify, along with optic, mouth, plating, and faceplate combinations. 

That wasn’t even accounting for tone of voice, and assuming Bluestreak was being straight forward with him, not using phrases without defining them, and not sarcastic. 

Bluestreak was _not_ a good communication subject from Sunstreaker’s point of view.

The speed in which he moved his sensor panels was daunting, and every time they dropped low - even for a klick - Sunstreaker’s spark would clench as he wondered what miss step he had taken to cause the mech to be afraid of him, or in pain. 

Sideswipe assured him Bluestreak’s field remained friendly, and persistent to become Sunstreaker’s _friend_ , but Sunstreaker was not confident enough to attempt interactions outside of battle scenarios with Bluestreak without Sideswipe by his side as interpreter. 

And the hi-grade consumption at this celebration made for an unpredictable behavioral communication variable.

Now that both Sideswipe and Smokescreen were a few cubes into the celebration party to welcome Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as full members of the Autobots awaiting their deployment orders, Smokescreen’s sensor panels were starting to move at the same dizzying pace as Bluestreak’s. 

Sunstreaker’s processor spun attempting to decipher them; baseline movements yet to be established.

Forcing his processor away from attempting to categorize emotional expressions of all the Autobots celebrating and swarming around Sideswipe, Sunstreaker glared at the freshly painted Autobot insignia on Sideswipe’s chestplate; the one on his own weighing like a betrayal.

He hated it here.

Hated that this - that these specific mechs born of the senate - were necessary for Sideswipe’s survival. 

Staring harder at the Autobot insignia, Sunstreaker clenched his jaw tight as he fought his own coding from spiraling into his glitch.

The echoes of his Creator’s voice defining everything Sunstreaker currently felt warring through his frame, but couldn’t manage to fit into words. 

_Unacceptable_.

“You do not need to stay at this party if you don’t want to Sunstreaker.” Shifting his optics to his left, the Autobot Rung approached him off to the side, reminding him that he had yet to determine what the defining parameters were that qualified as an _Acceptable_ drawing for the mech.

Another impending failure.

“Don’t touch me.” Sunstreaker stated by way of greeting, punctuating the warning of _words_ with a louder rev from his already uncontrollably rumbling engine.

Rung gestured to the empty table before them, “Do you want to join me?”

“No.”

“Alright.” Rung simply sat down at the table a few seats over from where Sunstreaker was standing, pulled out a datapad, and began to read.

Sunstreaker returned his gaze across the room toward where Sideswipe was pulling Trailbreaker up onto a table to stand next to him.

His idiot stumbled, and fell on top of Smokescreen. Both of them laughing, as Sideswipe wiggled and spun unseen toward Sunstreaker along their bond.

//Stop it.// Sunstreaker grumbled as he pulled away, refusing to engage him.

//Aw, c’mon Sunny. Just a little game of ping pattern?// Sideswipe didn’t pause as he stood, then leapt up on to the table mid conversation. Seamlessly his idiot continued his recounting of events to his audience as he pinged Sunstreaker relentlessly over their bond, attempting to entice him in to a game.

Sideswipe didn’t even have to _try_ , and everyone always loved him.

//Not when you are over charged.// Retreating along their bond, Sunstreaker attempted to escape the all too familiar pain of this situation. 

//But you have a harder time guessing then.// Sideswipe giggled and squirmed after him along their bond.

//Because your pings become erratic.// Sunstreaker snapped back, his own digits twitching and his lines aching, demanding even after all these vorns, the solution he had determined in the Pits to take the edge off his _Unacceptable_ foul mood.

And consuming, lingering guilt. 

_Creator had wanted to love his Creation. Sunstreaker had stole that option away from him._

//You could…try to join us again? Maybe?// Tentative hope pulsed through the bond, and it twisted in Sunstreaker’s spark to deny Sideswipe. 

//You know I can’t read that many mechs at once, over charged mechs are even worse.//

//I’ll punch ‘em if they laugh at you. Worse, I’ll make their lives miserable. Remember those mechs who laughed at you before? I won’t let them tease you.// Their bond rang with possessive with conviction.

//I’m good here.// He definitely wasn’t good here, but he pinged the affirmative while diverting his deception down the split and tattered partial bond to no where but festering failure. 

//Suit yourself.// Sideswipe retreated from their bond, and stopped sending his incessantly increasingly erratic spiraling pings at Sunstreaker. 

Sunstreaker had not missed _parties_ , or how much hi-grade Sideswipe would consume. 

His idiot was already on his fourth cube.

Shifting his optics, Sunstreaker glared at the large red Autobot insignia their _crew_ had painted for Prowl’s ‘show’ he requested of them. The large sheet of painted metal had taken the backdrop of their Rite of the Autobrand as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker swore their oaths to the Prime on top of their own smoking, make-shift battering ram.

The optic patch Sunstreaker had painted on the insignia, had provided a focal point for him to stare at beyond the Prime’s shoulder, as he recited the oath, while struggling not to spiral into his glitch. 

_Betrayer._

The symbol, hauled into this room for the celebration by Sideswipe’s new friends, got riveted to the wall. Sideswipe had gloated privately over their bond in victory at the inside joke of the two of them hiding in plain sight among the Autobots.

But to Sunstreaker, it reminded him of the layers of deception in the stories of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s lives.

_Butcher._

Sunstreaker’s reputation had almost shattered Sideswipe’s stories of their lives at the front gate to the Autobot base.

Sideswipe had had it all worked out, but the Autobots hadn’t played by Sideswipe’s narrative. It had been a relief when the Prime took up the game with Sideswipe and his insistence of calling Autobot insignias “red face thingies.”

Still, Sunstreaker hated the Autobots for the brief moment when Sideswipe _replayed_ along their bond to hear Sunstreaker, the name from his Carrier’s stories, of his favourite heroic wire mech after whom they modeled their lives, called a butcher and berserker.

A replay. 

They named it after the first few times it happened to Sideswipe; a harsh, grating scratch that would shriek momentarily across their bond when Sideswipe’s cortex relived a painful moment or feeling from his past. 

Sunstreaker lived in fear of what Sideswipe might replay. 

And he had started to lock up in his glitch in front of all the Autobots at the front gate, convinced that Sideswipe was about to cast him aside in favour of _normal_ mechs. 

Being here among the Autobots was exceedingly dangerous for both of them.

But especially for Shockwave’s Creation. 

These Autobots represented everything Sunstreaker had been denied from his Creator. They were born of the senate that _stole_ his Creator’s ability to feel for him.

What they had done and taken from Shockwave was abhorrent.

And the entire purpose of Creation's existence had been to subvert the senate’s machinations to Shockwave. 

_Thief._

Sunstreaker didn’t care that Sideswipe said he hadn’t seen any rooms with experiments, holding pens, or torture devices, as he switched quickly through Red Alert’s security feed.

It didn’t matter if Sideswipe hadn’t found anything yet to agree with Sunstreaker’s warnings that the Autobots would kill Sunstreaker, and study Sideswipe’s special experimental spark. 

Sideswipe hadn't been able to flit through every single room before the Security Director kicked them out of what Sideswipe named “the button room,” and it was possible some rooms simply didn’t have cameras. 

Sunstreaker would know, he had lived almost all of his life before they left the lab under the ever omnipresent watchful lens of cameras. 

He knew how to find the pattern of blind spots.

And how to correct his behaviour when in their field of view.

It wasn’t just his Creator’s words that had Sunstreaker on edge among the Autobots, Megatronus had had _a lot_ to say about the old senate and council that agreed with what Sunstreaker’s creator had taught him.

Looking away from the symbol of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s deception toward where Optimus Prime was talking with Ratchet and Prowl, he considered the Prime.

Megatronus had had _a lot_ to say about the Prime at rallies, and after battles as well. 

But if Sunstreaker could betray his own beloved Creator for Sideswipe’s sake, he could certainly betray Megatronus.

Despite the very real risk that Sunstreaker would be terminated should the Autobots ever discover him.

Or worse.

They might tell Sideswipe what made his spark special. 

Engine revving uncontrollably under his conflicting emotions, Sunstreaker assumed the posture he had perfected in the Pits to exuded an invisible barrier about himself so others would leave him alone, and shifted his optics momentarily toward Prowl. 

_There_ was a pattern he could solve to attempt to cool his festering and confusing emotions.

Pulling out his datapad he had had in his subspace the day he fled the lab as one with Sideswipe, Sunstreaker sought comfort in this last remnant of home and a world that made sense. 

Onlining his worn yet meticulously maintained datapad, he entered his password and dug through the layers of coding he’d added over the vorns. Leaving only surface drawings accessible, after he’d onlined one cycle to see Sideswipe perusing through his schematics from the Pits, he hid the more sensitive information deeper, despite knowing Sideswipe couldn’t _read_ any of it.

Skipping past his Creator’s lessons files, his schematics of subjects from the lab, and the Pits, Sunstreaker located his new experiment file. 

Opening his file titled ‘communication control subject Praxian 1,’ he added in the possible EM field fluctuation combinations Sideswipe had translated over their bond with their corresponding sensor panel positions onto his white and black subject’s frame. 

In order to verify the accuracy of Sideswipe’s EM field translations with the Praxian sensor panel movement positions of Smokescreen, they would have to attempt to replicated them on Prowl, whose sensor panels stayed mostly still. 

Hence why Prowl was his control subject of his Praxian Visual and Audial Communication Experiment. 

Or as Sideswipe illogically called it: Sunny’s Lucky Door Wingie Project.

It was much easier for Sunstreaker to distance his emotions from his failures to communicate with other mechs if he viewed it as a scientific experiment.

Learning from failure was the basis of science.

And hatred of results was illogical. 

The objective was for Sunstreaker to apply his Praxian sensor panels movement combinations results to Bluestreak who Sideswipe decided would make a good friend for Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker’s track record of attempting to make his own friends was not full of positive results.

But trying to interact with Autobots without Sideswipe present or helping along their bond was exhausting, and Sideswipe didn’t want him to stare at them as he had with mechs in the Pits, Decepticons and anytime they took odd jobs as Neutrals. 

Glancing around the room for potential communication subjects, he scowled along his bond to Sideswipe, only to receive a cheerful blather of pings attempting to entice him to join in response.

Sunstreaker retreated further away along their bond, and he huffed to himself.

Pointless to begin his own visual and audial communication combinations study when he didn’t know who he was assigned with and without Sideswipe's translations; the shear number of Autobots swarming about in the room was daunting.

But Sunstreaker was determined to try.

Glancing across the room toward the table the Autobot CMO was taking a seat at, Sunstreaker considered Sideswipe’s suggestion of Wheeljack. 

Despite the blast mask over the lower half of his faceplate, Sideswipe had assured Sunstreaker that Wheeljack’s illuminating helm fins changed colours based on his EM field. 

When Sideswipe had been taken out of medical stasis he had pulsed at Sunstreaker over their bond in glee that the Autobot scientist had a visual representation of an EM field. 

It wasn’t perfect, but Sunstreaker would need Sideswipe around to translate the colour combinations until he could record them, and Sunstreaker theorized that the blast mask may actually be a benefit for understanding Wheeljack in this case, because the mouth would be one less place he would have to watch.

Considering Ratchet beside Wheeljack, Sunstreaker’s spark twisted uncomfortably in its casing and he focused on his datapad as he tried to forget the medic’s relentless questions and insistence for Sunstreaker to give him an explanation for his spark trauma. 

A pointed reminder that Sunstreaker’s spark was not like _normal_ mechs.  

Beyond being late for his upgrade, there had been no spark trauma.

It was how his spark had always looked for as long as he could remember. 

Sunstreaker would know, he had looked at his spark enough times to attached the sensors for the monitors for his lessons and his and Creator’s personal experiment.

In the lab, his inability to find another’s spark like his had marked him as special. 

Unique. 

Potentially irreplaceable to his Creator. 

It marked his purpose.

Guilt welled in his spark. 

Clenching his jaw through the pain, he syphoned it off toward the tattered remnants of his festering partial bond that should have led to his Creator, before Sideswipe could feel it form through theirs and ask questions.

Engine rumbling again in irritation, he ignored even attempting to decipher the look Rung shot in his direction, instead Sunstreaker looked over to see Sideswipe downing another cube of hi-grade.

Scowling back down toward his datapad, he braced himself along their bond, anticipating the increase of disjointed agony that would soon be upon him. 

This was going to be a painfully long night cycle.

Sunstreaker’s servo clenched hard around the edges of his datapad, and he scrolled to access his many detailed schematics of Megatronus and his attempts to locate his spark chamber from when he would invite Sunstreaker to spar.

He had told the Prime he would give him this information, hoping to correct his error for the Battle of Polyhex, and repair the damage he had caused Sideswipe’s narrative of Sunstreaker. 

Certainly the information and the schematics were out of date anyway after all these vorns.

Sunstreaker had classified Megatronus as an “other” in his life. 

He didn’t think they had been friends, but Megatronus had told him he was special, and even after Sunstreaker had lashed out toward him in the Pits, he began to spare him in the ring. 

Sideswipe said his field was ‘skeevy’ but Sunstreaker enjoyed sparing with the mech when Sideswipe was overcharged at parties. 

Megatronus would talk, and he seemed entirely unbothered that Sunstreaker rarely responded to him in kind.

But Sunstreaker had _listened_.

His emotions around Megatronus were a muddled mess he couldn’t decipher. His spark would spin faster in his presence, and a confusing charge could shoot through his frame mid spar into components and systems that Creator had deemed irrelevant.

Any time it happened, Sunstreaker would lash out and slink away, fearing he was damaged.

It didn’t matter now anyway. 

Shockwave was among the Decepticons.

And Sideswipe came first. 

Still, Sunstreaker moved the schematics he had drawn of his Creator’s new frame, and any theories he had generated to the function of the heavy cable linking his cannon into his backplate, to a new file he did not intend to give to the Prime of his Decepticon frame schematics.

When he was almost finished separating his files, the impending moment he was dreading within his spark occurred.

Uncontrolled, he snapped his optics up to stare across the room at Sideswipe. 

A deep resonating beat emitted from Blaster’s network of speakers throughout the room, and Sideswipe hollered, dragging Smokescreen and Bluestreak onto the dance floor. Lights flashed, disorienting; thumping rhythm and melody slammed across his cortex through his audials, as Sideswipe’s disjointed attempt to match it scraped and drag along their bond.

Overcharged and stumbling, Sideswipe had blown his side of the bond wide open, attempting to entice Sunstreaker into sync as he gyrated his frame against the mechs around him. 

Their optics met, and Sunstreaker snapped his away to his datapad before a single ventilation could cycle. 

It fragging grated, raw on his spark to ignore him, and his servos clenched tight on his datapad as all his lines and cables pressurized under the strain. 

He knew this would happen again. 

Glaring hard as he flipped through his diagrams, Sunstreaker made no audible noise under the agony of constricting his side of the bond as narrow as he could without shutting Sideswipe out.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself, he focused on his primary experiment Sideswipe had assigned them.

His idiot had sold Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to the Autobots as experts on _Jet Judo_. 

And the two of them didn’t no what the frag they were doing.

Like most of Sideswipe’s illogical logical plans, it had worked once.

But could they replicate it, and survive without major injury?

Flipping through his schematics from the lab, he analyzed his diagrams of seeker flight frames and their flight control surfaces. Visualizing flight patterns resulting from their manipulation, Sunstreaker tried not to notice the red insignia of betrayal for his original purpose on his own chestplate.

Under the strain and agony of keeping his bond constricted as Sideswipe got overcharged like _normal_ mechs, Sunstreaker re-experienced the constant pain and isolation of his life in the Pits as Sideswipe made friends.

And Sunstreaker was left alone, to keep control of their bond, and keep his special spark hidden.

Once they were around _normal_ mechs, Sideswipe would always get lost in their EM fields, oozing all over them and inadvertently reminding Sunstreaker of everything he couldn’t have. 

Of everything he might be that he tried desperately to ignore.

And he as syphoned his pain and screamed down the tattered remnants of his past, he could almost pretend he could hear a whisper of his Creator praising him for running to him to report damage.

_Acceptable. My Creation_

…………………….

“He has been classically trained in aeriform.”

Glancing toward Sunstreaker leaning against the wall to the exit of the multipurpose room, Mirage sipped from his cube as Hound maintained his stance on the topic to their commanding officer. Wrinkling his nasal ridge at the uninspired sour flavor notes of the low quality hi-grade swill on his glossa, Mirage nudged the remainder of his cube toward Hound beside him.

“Ya keep saying that Hound, but I’m telling ya, you’re seeing things.” Jazz leaned forward on the back of his chair and swirled his own cube around in his servo. “Sparkles has got flare sure, and a greater spacial awareness of his movements and rhythm than most, but it doesn’t add up.”

As soon as the bass beat of what Blaster considered _music_ started, Jazz had sent Hound and Mirage a covert signal indicating Sunstreaker looming by himself by a mostly empty table, away from Sideswipe. The mech had barely said a word since he recited the oath to the Prime and hadn’t attempted to integrate himself with Bluestreak's, Smokescreen’s, or Trailcutter’s overlapping stories from their points of view of the simulation. 

Sunstreaker had just stood there among the jostling crowd, looming off to the side of Sideswipe, shifting his optics among the group; glaring in thinly veiled distain.

“Aeriform isn’t easy.” Hound maintained as he lined up cubes discarded from others on the table in front of him. 

Projecting a temporary hologram of the three of them at the table to block others from view, Hound projected two figures going through an obstacle course of discarded cubes to visually illustrate his point. 

“Moving from elevated platforms in sequences of bars and rings, and making it appear effortless with every spin and roll? Like the dancer is floating between each transition?” Hound pointed at his holographic recording of the two youngling dancers, “The dance form takes joors of practice every cycle. Sunstreaker shows the remnants of aeriform in his movements every time he points out his pedes, or how he turns his head as he spins. He’s point spotting.”

Mirage extended his field toward Hound in comforting solidarity. He knew how difficult it was for Hound to bring up those holograms for others to see. 

“No offense Hound, but how’d you manage to get tickets to an aeriform performance?” Jazz asked as he eagerly peered toward possibly the last remaining recording of the classical high class artform. “They sold out vorns in advance if you didn’t have connections. You met Mirage after the fall of the Towers.”

Directly after the fall of the Towers to be precise. 

Hound had found Mirage while searching for two very particular survivors in the carnage and rubble after the targeted attack on Cybertron’s elite noble class. 

Mirage had kept his electro-disruptor online, rendering himself invisible. 

Despite search teams, Mirage had been terrified for the Decepticon’s to learn he’d survived their systematic destruction of his home and so called _sporting justice_ execution of every noble they found in the resulting rubble. 

The sight and the screams of the acquaintances he had known all his life being systematically hunted like turbofoxes, and brutally executed all around him had scarred deep into his cortex, leading to his chronic use of the device and a compulsion to remain hidden.

But Hound’s enhanced olfactory sensors had found Mirage before his compulsive use of his electro-disruptor drained all his systems, starving himself in his terror. When Hound found him, it was already running mostly off energy generated by his spark.

Hound had enlisted with the Autobots shortly afterward, hid the extent of his abilities from them, and Mirage had stayed cloaked and hidden for a little over a vorn within the Autobot’s ranks under Hound’s guard and guidance. 

“I didn’t get tickets.” Hound continued in a soft whisper, mindful, despite the scrambler Jazz had snapped onto the bottom of their table. “I was employed once, keeping track of two noble younglings. Those bitlets were harder to track than Frenzy and Rumble across a battlefield when they got excited about something, would take off running together straight into traffic completely oblivious to danger at times. And the insane lengths they would go if one of them got injured or was frightened…” 

Hound trailed off as he fidgeted with the half filled cube Mirage had nudged in his direction, and the hologram of Hound’s split-spark youngling charges winked out of existence as he stared down at it. 

Mirage extended his EM field further in support, and Hound sent back a grateful wave across their bond.

With a tight smile, Hound continued, “You wouldn’t believe how fast they could coordinate and take off. I’d track them with my turbohounds and find them wedged and glaring at me in the strangest places. I had to follow them constantly. _They_ practiced aeriform. I had to sit in on their lessons in case one of them missed their mark and got hurt, because they’d take off in a flash. Out windows, through vents, down banisters past household guards…” Hound shook his helm, and gave a soft smile at fonder memories, “Less than a quarter of the time they’d actually bring their other half to go to the in house medic without me bringing them. I was hired to help train them to redirect their instincts to protect their other half of their spark toward those they could trust, instead of running away and hiding.”

Jazz’s EM field pulsed in surprise toward Hound, and Mirage suppressed an undignified smirk threatening to emerge at Jazz’s expense. 

Hound was friendly to everyone, but he was intensely private about his life before the war. And on a personal level Mirage loved when Jazz still learned he didn’t know everything about his own operatives.

When Jazz had eventually tracked down Mirage’s existence due to the discrepancies of energy drain from Hound’s holograms verses the rations he was taking didn’t add up, he brought both of them in for training in Spec Ops. 

Hound had simply shrugged and said he was a tracker before the war and supported himself by working various contracts for high class mechs. A guide for turbofox hunts in the wildlands for mechs with more credits than cortex or skill, and the odd search and rescue contract. 

No one but Mirage, who had been among the elite to have the rare luxury of being declared alt-mode exempt when he indulgently chose a high performance racing vehicle for his adult frame, would have understood the greater implications. 

Hound’s skill set would have been in high demand among the Cybertron’s elite, for much more than simple hunting trips. 

But Mirage had kept his mouth shut on the subject. 

The value of having Hound patiently stay by his side, assign himself as Mirage’s personal guide in his new world after the Fall of the Towers, and the gentle coaxing to break Mirage out of his narrow perceptions of his high class protective bubble; simply could not be repaid with anything other than unwavering loyalty and trust. 

Mirage sent a grateful wave of support to Hound through their amica endura spark bond. 

To be able to have the sworn loyalty of another, to know that Hound would have Mirage’s back and still call him out on his erroneous perceptions of his upbringing without malicious intent, was more than even Mirage’s own creators had ever extended toward him.

By his very nature Jazz wanted to know everyone’s business. Information and reading mechs around him, had kept Jazz alive long before the war. 

Dealing in rumors and shadows, linking together threads mechs left unsaid with slight shifts in frame posture, the Head of Spec Ops collected weaknesses and strengths of others that could be exploited.

Not much different than navigating the minefields and layers of deception among colleagues and rivals of the elite social circles from Mirage’s heritage. 

Alliances. Negotiations. Strategy. 

Give and take.

Back stab. 

A smile was never just a smile, and before Hound: a friend was never just a friend.

Or even maybe growing into something a little more.

Mirage tentatively extended his servo to brush against the side of Hound’s own, still fearing even now, the declaration of such a public display of affection and emotional attachment, even if it was just for Jazz to see. 

Both himself and Hound, still dancing about the risks of attempting to form such a deep, physical emotional connection between their sparks during an ongoing war. 

If one of them were to be captured during a mission and tortured, the other more likely than not, would take reckless action to save them.

Though for Mirage, it was more the risk of the potential bitter tinge to their amica bond if they took that final step, and learned their sparks were incompatible to fall in to sync enough to generate the charge necessary to form a conjunx endura bond.

Hound placed his servo on his, and gave it a quick squeeze, Mirage’s spark raced as Hound mingled his own field deeper, accepting the comfort.

“Just watch.” Hound brought up the hologram of the two smiling and laughing younglings again, going through a performance. Parallel to the two younglings, Hound added in a recording of Sunstreaker, seemingly floating from platform to platform during his so called mobility routine. 

“Way he moves,” Hound continued as the hologram of Sunstreaker executed flips and rolls interspersed with combat maneuvers, precariously along a ledge from the first time Hound had watched his routine in the outskirts of Iacon, “the forms and transitions are as natural to him as venting, that’s beam work right there, before that, uneven bars. As uncharacteristic as his equipment and fighting style is, he’s improvising.”

“That level of skill, I can only assume Sunstreaker’s been practicing and performing aeriform since his early younglinghood.” Mirage added. “Never imagined I’d witness a mech still trained in the art again.” 

“Looks like our new Autobot from _Kaon_ has integrated the movements into his battle protocols.” With the intensity of Jazz’s focus on the holographic display before him, Mirage knew his boss was reevaluating how a mech allegedly sparked and raised in Kaon had been trained in the expensive and time intensive high class dance form. 

The options of the _why_ or the _how_ springing to the forefront of Mirage’s processor caused his tanks to twist in revulsion. 

“Get this though,” Hound glanced toward where Sideswipe was bouncing around among mechs to the resonating beat from Blaster’s sound system, hardly performing what Mirage would ever consider _dancing_ , “I don’t think Sideswipe knows. Mech honestly believes Sunstreaker is just checking the function of his joints, cables and checking their rotation and range of motion every cycle.”

“Now that is interesting.” Jazz mused as he looked toward Sideswipe, a glint to his visor Mirage only ever saw when his boss was working on solving an instinctual itch nagging in the back of his processor. 

Offlining his holograms of his two split-spark twin youngling charges lost and slaughtered in the Fall, Hound chuckled despite the haunted pain of his field, and nudged his shoulder against Mirage. “Don’t know if Mirage wants to punch Sunstreaker in the faceplate for polluting the tradition by modifying the movements for combat, or hug the mech and crack out his vintage energon for surviving this long with the knowledge of the dance form.”

Mirage had begrudgingly admitted to himself as he had watched Sunstreaker’s so called mobility routine every cycle since the mech arrived on base, the strange combination of combat protocols with the aeriform positions and transitions was stunning in its integration. 

The integration of such dichotomy should have been a disjointed mess, but Sunstreaker had blended it seamlessly into a new, stunningly efficient, lethal form.

Brutality and elegant beauty, promises of both agony and spark racing hope for what Cybertron had lost and become.

Aeriform was in high demand at the parties of the elite. 

Emotion made visual in fluid movements between platforms, a delightful indulgence resonated in the sparks of the audience; a window into feeling a fraction of the emotions the performers felt and portrayed. 

An emotional indulgence beyond the privileged few in the high class who ever learned to trust to let down their guard to form a spark bond.

Once he knew what he was looking for through the combat movements, Mirage could envision Sunstreaker, lightly plated, fully detailed in gilded gold, performing on a stage at the high class parties Mirage had attended before the Fall. Music would resonate through the amphitheater as he swung from bar to bar, suspended from rings, hit his marks on the floor, and leapt through hoops on to different platforms, flowing and floating between each movement like liquid gold.

Light would hit his polished plating at a particular angle and in those instances… 

Mirage offlined his optics.

Destroyed.

In ruins. 

Pain lanced through his spark at the memory, and yet as he onlined his optics, there stood Sunstreaker, away from others, still holding onto this little speck of lost Cybertronian high class culture through all the devastation the war had brought. 

Mirage couldn’t help the welling of kinship in his spark toward the aloof mech.

Decision made, Mirage stood and cracked out one of his bottles of vintage energon from his subspace.

“Remain here.” He instructed Jazz and Hound as their fields flared against his, shocked. 

They had been only been joking about the vintage energon, and Mirage didn’t know the circumstances of Sunstreaker ending up in the Pits - shuddered to consider the possibilities that led a noble raised mech to end up in that position. 

And his fuel tank contorted to consider the possibility that a so called _Patron_ from the higher class, who used the Pits as brothels, had trained a mech born and raised in Kaon in such an intimate emotional art form. 

Both options certainly pointed to a disturbing conclusion of why Sunstreaker did not like to be touched.

But the more Mirage considered Sunstreaker, the more he concluded that every movement, every glare, every sneer, and his default posture practically screamed Sunstreaker didn’t belong.

Not among the Autobots, or the Decepticons. 

During the simulation, as Sideswipe chose his team, Mirage had watched Sunstreaker closely. For all the mech’s dreadfully uncouth stomping, Mirage had to admit, Sunstreaker commanded the space around him. 

Expecting others to clear from the path before him.

Sunstreaker exuded an invisible barrier, expressionless yet combative stance in his posture.

Bracing for combat, quick action, or perhaps…a war of _words_.

Arrogant. Vain. Aloof.

A silent warning to keep others away to avoid awkward or unwanted conversation with mechs of vastly different upbringing, as Mirage himself was want to do. 

Because it was Sunstreaker’s default posture that Mirage had noticed after Hound had asked Mirage confirm that Hound wasn’t going crazy and seeing the last remnants of aeriform hidden within Sunstreaker’s so called ‘mobility routine.’

Sunstreaker’s posture was impeccable in a way no low born mech could so casually replicate. 

And he assumed it when he was surrounded by the judgmental optics of others.

To Mirage’s trained optic for political intrigue and reading through layers of deception in expressions - despite his threatening posture - the way Sunstreaker kept glancing around the room but always ultimately toward Sideswipe before using his focus on the contents of his worn, but meticulously maintained, datapad as a _shield_ spoke volumes. 

Without Sideswipe at his side, Sunstreaker appeared lost - as if all of society’s rules he had learned had been turned on their head with the war and no longer mattered.

Though of course, that could simply be Mirage projecting how he himself felt without his amica endura Hound at his side to patiently guide him out of the narrow lens and perception of his high class upbringing. 

That lay in tattered ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go see this [fan art by Floral_Robot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10408206) if you haven't already!!! It's perfect for this chapter with Sunstreaker feels, and OMG the youngling frames break my heart with Bitlet and his little wire mechs and then there is Creation standing there with his impeccable posture... *WAILS.*
> 
> AND SUNSTREAKER'S CREEPY PERFORMANCE SMILE WHEN HE WAS WITH RUNG! *Squishes my face to Floral_Robot's face*
> 
> Next chapter has the conversation from Mirage going up to Sunstreaker and basically saying, "Sooooooooo.....*wink wink nudge nudge high class elite babble*"  
> And you get to see how Sunstreaker reacts to finding out the origins of his mobility routine, and having to deal with that while Sideswipe is drunk off his ass. Remember who is sitting nearby ;) ?
> 
> Aeriform: you start to learn truly how deep Shockwave's machinations with Sunstreaker went in his upbringing. 
> 
> Also I'd love to know if any of you predicted Hound as having experience with split-sparks? He's been in the background, but I hinted at someone with his skill set being hired in raising split sparks to their adult frames in the chapter: Terror Twins. The only split-spark world building you have gotten before now is from Shockwave's clinical POV, and hopefully some of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's more bizarre behavior toward each other is starting to make more sense to you from having a window into Hound's past. 
> 
> As Hound stated "Those bitlets were harder to track than Frenzy and Rumble across a battlefield when they got excited about something, would take off running together straight into traffic completely oblivious to danger at times. And the insane lengths they would go if one of them got injured or was frightened…"
> 
> Except, in this case, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have been distressed and in pain almost their entire lives, and sometimes, that pain is caused by the other. Shockwave taught Sunstreaker to redirect his instincts toward himself when distressed or in pain. Hound's job was similar to the reason for one of Sunstreaker's main parameters of behavior in the lab: damage to be reported immediately. The last thing Shockwave wanted was Sunstreaker to run and find Sideswipe in the cells outside of a controlled experiment.


	23. Applause

“These gatherings do grate on one’s senses do they not?”

Sunstreaker didn’t take his focus off his datapad as Mirage moved in to lean against the wall beside him.

“I don’t take Patrons, and keep your fragging field to yourself.” The mech ground out through clenched denta, obviously less than pleased to receive company.

Mirage kept the shock at the casualness the mech stated such an implication out of his expression, though he supposed it made sense, Sunstreaker would have been just as forward in the Pits.

Maintaining a polite distance away, Mirage scoffed, “I would never be so rude as to extend my field where I am not invited by you and yours.”

The stylist in Sunstreaker’s hand stalled, but he kept his optics locked on his datapad. 

For a few spark rotations, the golden mech beside him didn’t engage. Mirage was just about to attempt to prod the conversation further when Sunstreaker responded with a single curt word.

“Good.”

Stylist working again on the datapad, a silence descended between them. Analyzing Sunstreaker’s stance, the mech was anything but relaxed. Pistons and cables poised tight for sudden movement; yet if Mirage could draw a line down his frame, he would be perfectly aligned with his weight distribution on each pede.

Even reclining against a wall, Sunstreaker’s posture and poise was impeccable, he appeared haughty; confident.

To the untrained optic, it was subtle, but the mech was anything but comfortable at this loud and rambunctious party.

Mirage’s grip on his bottle of vintage energon tightened in amenity.

“It occurred to me I had not formally introduced myself, dreadfully rude on my part, I am Mirage of the former Translucentica Heights.” 

Hard blue optics snapped toward Mirage as Mirage inclined his head with a short tight nod: a traditional greeting of one of equal standing among the elite. Neutral, yet not implying a power imbalance between them. 

Suitable for first introductions. 

Sunstreaker looked toward Sideswipe across the room, and out of the corner of his optics, Mirage tracked his gaze. The red mech was grinding himself lasciviously against Smokescreen on the dance floor, cube of hi-grade raised high above his helm, undulating his overcharged frame off beat.

Grimacing toward the display, Sunstreaker looked back toward Mirage. His piercing gaze trailed across Mirage’s frame; assessing an opponent.

Offlining and subspacing his datapad, he gave one more brief glimpse toward Sideswipe before he narrowed his optics.

“I know precisely who you are.” 

Mirage’s spark rate increased as the supposed mech of Kaon, returned his greeting impeccably with an identical inclination of his head, even if he did not return the rest of the greeting in kind.

Keeping Hound’s theory that Sunstreaker had not informed Sideswipe of his heritage at the forefront of his processor, Mirage had to wonder if the mech had been ensuring Sideswipe was throughly distracted before returning the greeting of neutral standing between them.

Emboldened, Mirage steered the conversation forward, mindful of the weight of the bottle in his servo. “I observed you are not indulging in hi-grade with the others.”

Sunstreaker’s lip curled as he looked toward Sideswipe writhing and jostling in the mass of mechs on the dance floor, “I don’t drink hi-grade, it dulls processors and turns the smartest mechs unbearable.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” At Mirage’s declaration of agreement, Sunstreaker snapped his optics back to Mirage and stared at him as if he were attempting to read Mirage’s processor.

“Perhaps I could interest you in partaking with me something a little more,” He extended the bottle of vintage energon in his servo outward, holding it by its neck and base in two servos to display the label toward Sunstreaker, “ _refined._ ”

Sunstreaker’s optics locked onto the label, and though it was hardly noticeable, there was a _slight_ furrow to his brow as he read it and a slight widening of his optics.

“A potassium bitartrate infused energon blend that predates the war.” To Mirage, those little facial movements practically screamed of a high class mech trained to hide his visible surprise.

“Still sealed I assure you.” Mirage inclined his head again, “If I may be so bold as to pour you a dram, I’d be delighted to hear your assessment of the finer underlying mineral flavor notes it leaves lingering on your glossa.”

“You drink from the same bottle.” Narrowed optics snapped up from the label to meet Mirage’s own.

Spark rate increasing Mirage entreated, “I would do it no other way.”

The elite high class had many political and personal rivals. As such, ceremony to social situations such as these had evolved. Hidden signals of honesty, declarations of truth. One of which was the display of reassurance of no poison laced in the energon or in the flutes themselves.

The returning slight inclination of Sunstreaker’s head was all the agreement Mirage needed.

Setting the bottle on the nearby table, he retrieved two crystal flutes from his subspace. Ornate crystal stems twisted the length from the base to the inverted conical receptacle. Orienting them on the table, Mirage retrieved a knife from his subspace and sliced around the crystalax seal on the lip of the bottle. 

Pulling the malleable crystalax covering off, revealed a capertop of cesium. Exposure to the chemical composition of Cybertron’s atmosphere caused the capertop to burst into bright violet-blue flames, igniting as it burned down the length to the stopper.

With a slight pop, hardly noticeable over the thumping generating on the other side of the expansive room, the stopper was sucked inward. Splashing down with a fizzle, it disintegrated into the energon as the byproduct of the elements encased in the capertop blended seamlessly with the particular chemical composition of the refined vintage energon within.

Bubbles rose to the surface as the bottle’s contents turned from a soft glowing pink hue to a vibrant glowing lavender, as deeper purple flames flicked up and lapped into yellow on the surface

Looking back toward Sunstreaker, Mirage allowed a smug smile to form on his face. Sunstreaker had pushed himself off the wall and was staring intently at the process, optics moving, enraptured through the entire display.

As the flames sputtered out, Mirage noticed Rung at the table not watching the display, but subtly observing Sunstreaker.

Reaching forward, Mirage poured a quarter of a dram into each crystal flute. Picking one up, he swirled the contents within the receptacle to coat all the surfaces, then braced himself for objections of waste as he poured it out into a discarded cube left on the table.

No objection came and he repeated the processes with the other.

“You are cleaning the inside of the crystal receptacles with the solution.” Sunstreaker has moved closer, stating his observations as Mirage’s fuel pump raced. “You are removing potential contaminants.”

It wasn’t a question. 

It was a declaration that held a hint of awe at understanding.

“So any lingering particles do not interfere with or cause an adverse chemical reaction that would taint the experience.” Instead of a scoff about wasting such a rare delicacy, Sunstreaker apparently understood the need for the ritual.

Cleaning the crystal flutes with the vintage energon about to be consumed caused any chemical reaction to take place with impurities in the small amount he swirled and poured out. Mirage’s spark practically soared with the implications of Sunstreaker’s understanding.

Flutes cleaned, he poured out a dram into each, taking his own in his right, he extended the crystal flute in his left toward Sunstreaker. 

Betraying his harsh mannerisms, Sunstreaker gently took the delicate crystal flute in his right and held it up toward the lights.

Mirage’s lines hummed under the nostalgia of the past watching Sunstreaker admire the artistry of the flutes, and gaze at the rising gas bubbles within the energon.

“This is Praxian crystal.” Sunstreaker stated as he tilted and twisted the flute slightly among his digit tips, “From the gardens.”

“How do you know?” Mirage’s spark raced.

“There are fine silver filaments within the crystal structure. When held and viewed from a particular angle,” Sunstreaker’s optics snapped toward Mirage, “The filaments reflect light from within.”

“I had the flutes custom ordered and manufactured from a crystal artisan who worked with the controversial crystal anomaly that sprang up in the gardens.” The astonishment Mirage felt, leaked into his tone despite his best efforts. ”The metal filaments cause an impurity within the crystalline lattice, leaving the crystal easily fractured in unskilled servos. I have only known one other who has recognized the origin of these flutes so quickly.”

Sunstreaker gave no further comment as he brought the vintage energon toward his nasal and inhaled the scent. 

Internally shaking himself from his astonishment, Mirage did the same, rolling the savory under lying notes of potassium bitartrate in the vintage and the fresh scent of ozone from the combustion, then took a sip first, as per protocol.

“I was given a segment as a gift.” 

Only Mirage’s ridged upbringing prevented him from spraying his sip straight back out of his mouth at Sunstreaker’s casual declaration of being given a priceless artifact. As it was, he placed a servo over his mouth as if simply clearing his intake.

Mirage himself had to jump through numerous hoops of bureaucratic red tape in order to obtain permission to have these manufactured, a crystal that could not be easily shaped and from the technically off limits Helix Crystal Gardens of Praxus…

“Pray tell, I absolutely must know the story behind that.”

Sunstreaker’s optics locked back toward Mirage as he lowered the flute, and he inclined his head slightly into a nod with a slight uptick to the corner of one side of his mouth, “Just because I’m me.”

Then the golden mech took a sip from the flute, holding the vintage on his glossa, swishing it around before swallowing.

Mirage didn’t know if he wanted to laugh in relief, or cry at the golden mech’s casual arrogant brag of obtaining a priceless crystal artifact. 

It was so…refreshing.

“Potassium bitartrate blended with ozone gas infused the energon’s base refinement process of rubidium crystals with silver, and iodine with an underlying by-product of strontium. Ignited by the cesium stopper exposed to the atmosphere.”

Mirage reset his optics at the information deluge uttered suddenly from the mech before him, and Sunstreaker went rigid. 

For a klick they just stared at one another.

Until Sunstreaker narrowed his optics at his flute again and took another sip. 

“What did I miss?”

The mech glared at the flute as if it had betrayed him, and Mirage took another sip. Rolling the flavor notes around there was an underlying tartness of -

“Strontium.” Mirage declared, his expression lighting up toward Sunstreaker, “It has been so long…I missed the subtle underlying tartness of it.”

Golden plating puffed out slightly, another sip was taken then a self satisfied smirk stretched his face “The color of the flame was the indicator. The flame changed from the lavender-yellow to a more reddish-purple because of presence of strontium as a by-product.”

“Unbelievable.” Shaking his head in awe, Mirage could still hardly believe the mech before him existed.

But the smirk was instantly off Sunstreaker’s face and his frame tensed, “You think I’m wrong.”

“Not at all, I am delighted to make the acquaintance of a mech who has an appreciation for fine details.” Some of the tension left Sunstreaker’s frame, and Mirage gave a covert signal to Hound with his servo and mounted wheels on his back, indicating he should come join the conversation. 

The movement, as all the signals Jazz has developed for use within the Special Operations division of the Autobots, was subtle. Easily mistaken for a kink in a wire or shuffle of plating that had become overlapped. Sunstreaker however, set Mirage’s plating on edge as he zeroed in on the movement immediately and narrowed his optics at it. 

By Primus, this mech had been instructed to notice even the smallest shift of plating out of place to read an opponent. 

“You have made quite the impression Sunstreaker,” Hound chuckled as he arrived, picking up the bottle of vintage energon he sniffed it, “Tangy notes of strontium, nice.” Pouring himself a cube without any of the high class ceremony, he smiled warmly toward the golden mech, “Mirage doesn’t crack out his vintage energon for just anyone.”

Huffing in exasperation toward Hound, Mirage struggled to avoid rolling his optics, “You have met Hound of course, hopefully you do not object to him joining our conversation.”

Sunstreaker had gone rigid again with Hound’s arrival, jaw clenching tight as he looked toward where Sideswipe was laughing with his arm hanging off Blaster and talking to Jazz, and back down to the purple bubbling flute of vintage energon in his own servo.

“Of course not.” It was obvious by his tone that it wasn’t and Mirage bristled at the slight toward his amica endura. Whether it was Hound’s presence Sunstreaker was uncomfortable with or the casual way Hound had broken into the barrier of elite traditions by casually pouring himself a cube, Mirage didn’t know. 

The enthusiasm he had drawn out of Sunstreaker closed down as the mech set his face in a way that Mirage swore was more suitable for a mech prepping for battle. 

Nevertheless, Mirage drove the conversation forward toward what he truly wished to discuss.

“You stated when I introduced myself, you knew precisely who I was. Hound was not incorrect, you have made quite the impression and I must admit, if we have met before, I fear I would have remembered one such as yourself.”

The light behind Sunstreaker’s optics had gone hard as they moved about Mirage’s face and his frame when he spoke.

“We were in the same simulation today.” Sunstreaker deadpanned. “I read your profile. Hound was assigned the role of combating your skills.”

Allowing a slight smile to tug at the edges of his lips, Mirage struggled to keep his mirth at bay as he took a sip from his flute -

“He is your antithesis.” Sunstreaker nodded toward Hound, “Hound claimed you as his booty.”

Only to choke and cough out his intake in a terribly undignified manner, as Hound outright roared with laughter.

The smirk that graced Sunstreaker’s face in vindication held the edge of a slight sneer of a mech with leverage.

Stabbing in at a debunked weakness of the past, pointing out Mirage’s emotional attachment toward Hound who was not to be regarded as an equal.

Mirage’s fuel tank clenched as he struggled against his own upbringing he knew to be false from his isolated crystal tower, but the jab stung, despite it not reflecting his true emotions toward Hound. 

Some conditioned social habits were difficult to break from his cortex’s default reaction.

As if detecting a weakness, Sunstreaker pushed boldly forward. Moving in a slow arc, the golden mech circled around Mirage’s frame. 

“You have a device installed. An electro-disruptor.”

To that, Mirage smirked, eager to brag to the mech before him.

“Electro-distruptors were a new invention before the war I’m afraid. Cutting edge technology. As far as I’m aware…I own the last one in existence.” And that was an extreme point of pride for Mirage. To have a value no one else did, even in war.

“How large is it?” Sunstreaker completed his rotation, and with his question, he narrowed his optics as he examined Mirage from helm to pede; measuring Mirage’s worth.

That…was a decidedly odd and unanticipated question.

And Mirage hesitated under his unwavering judgmental gaze, unable to stop himself from reaching out with his field toward Hound in his uncertainty. Hound’s focus remained on Sunstreaker, cube of vintage energon stopped and hovering at his lips.

Sunstreaker, taking control of the conversation, took advantage of Mirage’s hesitation as if he had won a point.

Not permitting time for Mirage to regain his footing, Sunstreaker dug deeper.

“It is located behind your dorsal plating. A solid hit on your back will render it inoperable, and you run the risk of spark arrest if it were to overload, so you had your frame reoriented for your wheels to be on your back instead of your shoulders.”

Mirage’s spark twisted and coiled in its casing.

How did he -

“You have encountered someone with an electro-disruptor installed before?” Mirage inquired, keeping his reactions neutral while his instincts were screaming at the threat Sunstreaker was implying. 

Last Mirage knew, he was the only one who had survived with the technology. The inventor of the device had died early on and Wheeljack had been unable to replicate it. 

Something about quantum mechanics and repeatable results that only gave Mirage a cortex ache when Perceptor and Wheeljack started arguing about it.

“No.” Optics snapped up to stare straight at Mirage, watching for any twitch of his face as he made his leverage clear. “It’s wired into your spark casing.”

It was not often that Mirage felt the need to draw on his training to control his field from flaring out in surprise, the flare was short, and Sunstreaker gave no reaction to the breech of propriety. 

For that, Mirage was thankful.

Still Mirage’s fuel pump throbbed harder and out of the corner of his optics he saw Hound solidify his stance under the implied threat. 

Only Jazz, Hound, Optimus and Ratchet were privy to that information.

“That would be extremely foolhardy.” Mirage scoffed out his lie as he took a further sip from his flute as if to display he had nothing to be concerned about.

“Yet you did it.” Sunstreaker took a sip from his own, in the exact same manner. 

“How can you be so certain?” Hound interjected and Sunstreaker turned his head to him and narrowed his optics, as if disgruntled to have his gloating victory over Mirage’s discomfort interrupted.

“After the simulation, Trailbreaker consumed more fuel due to his energy requirement his forcefield requires, so did you, due to your hologram use. Blurr also consumed a larger ration, the extensive fan network that cools his components under his speed and the consumption of his engine itself, he is better off suited with jet-grade energon. Sideswipe consumes more than his frame size demands with his excessive collection of subspace pockets…” 

Turning away from Hound back toward Mirage, Sunstreaker leaned closer his focus probing into Mirage in a way that left Mirage decidedly on edge.

“You,” The mech smirked, “do not. The energy comes from somewhere; spark fusion.”

“You are very observant.” Schooling his features, Mirage answered with a round about way of confirmation. 

A predatory smile stretched Sunstreaker’s face as he leaned back, puffing out his plating and taking a sip from the crystal flute in victory.

But now that the strike had been made, Mirage parried with an observation of his own.

“I have enjoyed watching your mobility routine every cycle since you arrived, you are quite talented.” Mirage grinned earnestly as he played his opening move.

And if anything, Sunstreaker preened more and he took a sip from his flute in time with Mirage.

Waiting until Sunstreaker swallowed, Mirage let the mech respond.

Predictably, he took the bait.

“I maintain my function at the optimum level. Testing my skills, my range of motion, mobility, and reflexes in complicated sequences that blend from one to the next.”

“And your skill level is astonishing, I’m wondering if you would give us more of your keen observations on a recording of Hound’s.”

Sunstreaker gave a slight inclination of his head indicating Mirage to proceed, and Mirage motion to Hound.

Extending his servo, the recording of Hound’s split-spark youngling charges began to play across his palm from one to the next, and as Sunstreaker leaned forward to watch, Mirage watched Sunstreaker.

His focus darted after the holographic younglings as if memorizing every movement, absently he placed his flute beside him on the table. 

“Why are you showing me this?” Suspicion seeping subtly into his tone, Sunstreaker stared up toward Hound.

“Aeriform.” Hound began, “The foundation of your so called mobility routine. You were trained in the high class art of dance. Certainly you recognize the foundational movements.”

“I test my mobility.” Sunstreaker hissed with an sharp rev of his engine.

“Yes, well,” Mirage politely cleared his vocalizer, “that is of course how it appears to the average mech, but you are anything but the average mech aren’t you?”

All expression cleared from Sunstreaker’s face and his optics flit momentarily toward Sideswipe barely visible among the mass of Autobots, providing Mirage’s next opening.

“You see, I spent a great deal of my time before the war studying the finer aspects of Cybertronian society, and when I observed your mobility routine, I couldn’t help but notice the particular _poise_ of Aeriform in your movements.”

“I don’t dance. I maintain and assess my function.”

“We all have our secrets Sunstreaker,” Hound entreated, “We simply wished to share that you don’t need to hide your talents here. Don’t get me wrong, you have hidden it in seamlessly in your movements within your combat protocols,” Hound added in the hologram of Sunstreaker along side the split-spark younglings, “but the foundational movements of Aeriform are there.”

Sunstreaker recoiled to see a hologram of his frame kicking, punching, rolling, twisting and flipping along side the holograms of the identical younglings.

“I don’t dance.” 

“That is certainly what you have told Sideswipe, and we won’t tell him otherwise but -“

“You are both mocking me.” Rising to his full height, jaw set hard, Sunstreaker’s servos clenched into fists.

“You misunderstand.” Mirage attempted to clarify as he reached out with his field to smooth over his offense, “It is nothing to be ashamed of Sunstreaker, I am in _awe_ that you have managed to survive with the knowledge of the artform, and I simply wanted to convey that I understand what it’s like to need to hide your true self from others. You and I have a lot in common.”

“You’re wrong.” The mech’s face went stone cold, but his engine revved hot as his blade extended from his wrist, “I’m nothing like _you_.”

“Sunstreaker.” Rung’s firm voice interrupted as he rose and made his way toward them. “Why don’t you take a walk to calm down.”

As soon as Rung spoke, Sunstreaker snapped his optics toward him. At his suggestion Sunstreaker looked across the room toward Sideswipe.

Sideswipe was hanging off of Smokescreen again, and flitting his digits across the leading edges of his sensor panels, head tossed back with a laugh. 

Coiled tight and with a hard rev of his engine, Sunstreaker’s retracted his blade as his cooling fans clicked on. Spinning on his heel, he stormed out of the party. 

Tossing back the remaining vintage energon in his flute down his intake, Mirage gathered the priceless crystal off the table and paused. Lifting the flute Sunstreaker had used up to the light, Mirage’s processor spun, then flit his optics to the door Sunstreaker had just exited.

“Mirage, don’t. Leave him be.” Hound warned.

“I have to know Hound.” Tucking the crystal into his subspace, he took a step back as Hound reached for him. Engaging his electro-disruptor, Mirage rendered himself outside of detectable visible and scanning spectrums.

As he left the party to follow Sunstreaker, he ignored Rung’s question to Hound, “What did the two of you show him to set him off? Until then, that was the most I’ve seen him engage with anyone who is not Sideswipe.”

The question coiled in Mirage’s spark, and others haunted his processor.

Had Mirage been completely wrong about his assessment of the mech?

Sunstreaker was already out of sight before Mirage exited the room, but his stomping pedes and revving engine echoed down the corridor. 

No. 

The way Sunstreaker held up the crystal flute kept replaying in his processor. 

It was precisely how members of the elite high class examined the contents of a container of liquid. Sunstreaker had learned that mannerism from somewhere.

From someone. 

If he had not been sparked and raised in Kaon, but by a member of the elite…

More questions rose.

If he had been sparked and raised in the Pits of Kaon, it was clear a member of the elite was part of his upbringing but to what purpose? 

Mirage’s fuel tank churned. 

His own consuming guilt for parties he had participated in without question before the Decepticon uprising rose to the surface. 

Primus. Mirage had taken the bodies of the poor on test drives for _fun_ to help him chose his alt mode for his adult frame. He hadn’t even questioned the desperation of the why a mech would offer up their body for their spark to be removed so another could temporarily inhabit it. They signed the forms and Mirage hadn’t thought deeper into it, as far as he was concerned they had volunteered for pocket change.

All his acquaintances were doing it; his creators had encouraged it. 

It had been considered _normal_ in his social circles.

High class courtesans signed contracts of consent listing their limits but…Mirage knew very well that those with _other_ proclivities went to the Pits of Kaon. Patronage of the Pits was an open secret among the elite high class. Mirage himself had been invited on more than one occasion to the unofficial by-invitation-only death matches, but he didn't have the tank for blood sports, nor the inclination to frag or be fragged by a gladiator post match.

But the cost, the time intensive cost and skill that went into the instruction of Aeriform…it simply didn’t make sense. Who would invest the time and the cost of such a perversion of the art with a youngling in Kaon?

Had the Pit Bosses themselves trained Sunstreaker up as a brutal combatant who doubled as a refined courtesan of their own? Or had a single mech or group of mechs in the elite invested long term in his development.

Mirage tightened his servos into fists, hating that he would need more servos just to list the number of mechs he had known before the uprising who would have eagerly jumped on such an opportunity.

Working with Rung though his trauma from the fall of the Towers, Mirage had had to confront within himself how crooked and unsustainable the foundation of his lifestyle he had been born into was, and he had begun to sympathize with the Decepticons. 

He didn’t hate them. 

He had grown to understand them.

But understanding did not mean he agreed with the methods their revolution evolved into. It didn’t make reliving the tortured ‘justified’ screams of his fellows, or the sight Hound’s youngling charges once they tracked them down, any sort of palatable justice. 

Hound's charges had been merged as one, locked in a spark sync as one youngling moving two frames, and the Decepticons hadn’t even had the decency to kill both halves at the same time. The surviving split-spark youngling had become a shell of his former self, vocalizer spitting static under the force of his screams and reaching for the other half of his frame as three Decepticons around him laughed and move it like a puppet just out of reach. 

They had gone out of their way to be cruel, becoming in themselves everything they had hated about their oppressors once they gained power. 

Hound had triple tapped the cortex, spark, and t-cog of two of them before the third even registered the silent expert hunter in their midst.

Even in his fury, Hound kept his kills professional. 

There was a reason Hound had been drafted into Spec Ops by Jazz. 

Jazz didn’t tolerate kills or interrogation based on vengeance, and Hound wasn’t just a tracker, he was a _hunter_ who hit his marks and didn’t let his targets suffer needlessly.

While Mirage’s processor raced with unanswered questions and haunting data echoes of the past, he followed as Sunstreaker made three stomping circles through corridors within the base. 

Finally, Sunstreaker stopped outside of one of the combat training rooms and Mirage’s spark rate increased, hoping his gambit had paid off to get the answers he needed.

Slipping in behind Sunstreaker, Mirage held tight to the corners as Sunstreaker stormed deeper into the room. Dim running lights of the room activated as Sunstreaker made his way forward. 

Abruptly he stopped. 

The golden mech stood, polished to perfection in the center of the combat training room for a full breem. 

Then ice blue optics narrowed and flit toward an elevated sparing ring.

While Ironhide had an area sectioned off for beginners, it rarely saw use anymore. 

The sparing rings, however, were for advance combat fighters. They could be elevated, lowered, tilted and shook to simulate changes in terrain or explosions under pedes mid combat. An advanced combat fighter used not only their weapons and their fists, but their terrain around them to their advantage. 

Spec Ops had their own training rings in Iacon’s secret underground. Jazz had drilled the awareness of surroundings into Mirage’s cortex enough as he slammed him repeatedly onto the ground, or ambushed him from beams above.

Both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had started their combat assessments on the advanced platforms.

Since the ex-gladiators arrived on base, Jazz had ensured a member of Spec Ops had been visually in their orbit. 

Mirage had been assigned the cycle they had been tested in one on one unarmed combat. 

Then two on one.

Then three.

It had been brutal to watch.

Blades sheathed, Sunstreaker’s retracting digit claws on his left servo left blunt, both of them had decimated their opponents by using their environment to their advantage.

It was made clear to everyone in the room that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were never unarmed.

They _were_ weapons.

Weapons that were intimately aware of their environment.

Now, Mirage watched as Sunstreaker moved toward the advanced sparing platform controls, and cycled through orientation options. A hiss of hydraulics brought three of the circular platforms together to the ground. Then Sunstreaker gathered equipment from the supply closet for the obstacle course he would reorganize every cycle, and Mirage’s spark raced. 

Reaching into his subspace, Mirage went to set up a scrambler for the video feed in the room. Only to pause to discover the cameras had already been set to record in a loop of Sunstreaker standing alone in the center of an empty room as if deep in thought.

Mirage flit his optics toward the camera and could make out a small device hijacked into the side. He hadn’t even noticed when Sunstreaker had dropped it to skitter up the wall to override the video feed. 

Intimately aware of their surroundings indeed. 

Regardless, Mirage didn’t raise alarm or announce the breach in security to Red Alert. 

This was a private matter, and Mirage was already intruding upon it for his own selfish reasons.

Because Sunstreaker wasn’t setting up for combat; he hadn’t retrieved any of the sparing drones.

Standing on the left most platform, Sunstreaker pressed a control button off to the side. And as the hiss of hydraulics raised the sparing platforms off the ground, Sunstreaker rotated his shoulder joints, and his neck as he would before every time he started his mobility routine.

Except now the elevated platforms looked less like sparing rings, and more like a stage.

Sunstreaker was going to perform.

And as Mirage watched in rapt awe, he rolled the main question nagging the back of his cortex.

If Sideswipe didn’t know Sunstreaker’s mobility routine had its foundational movements in dance, how had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe managed to form a conjunx endura bond with such a fundamental deception between them?

Had their devotion to each other transcended social economic lines to allow their sparks to rotate in sync enough for the bond to form?

Did that mean Mirage had a chance of forming one with Hound?

Or was Mirage simply chasing echoes of elite upbringing, participating unseen from the sidelines as Sunstreaker confronted the ghosts of his past with every fluid movement of undiluted Aeriform.

Emotion made visual, to share with an audience. 

Pain. There was so much bitter pain and uncertainty in every roll and twist.

But it held a deep foundation of devotion and adoration.

Then, despair as he went crashing to the ground, tore off some plating - 

And tried again to hit his mark.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Surveying the orientation of his mobility equipment before he started, Sunstreaker’s fuel tank contorted.

It couldn’t be true.

Could it? 

Sunstreaker knew what dancing was, he had watched Sideswipe dance in the Pits and among the Decepticons. Mechs writhing, jumping and jostling against each other, servos touching, plating scraping; Sunstreaker didn’t dance. 

_Sideswipe said it felt like he and Sunstreaker danced with each other privately in their sparks._

Scowling internally with his bond constricted as narrow as he dared, he glared at what he had set up before him. His mobility routine had _not_ been a dance; he had been assessing his joints and function. 

Creator’s ever observant single optic always watched and followed his every movement.

Assessing. 

Correcting form for optimum function and examination.

Except the hologram of the two identical younglings between Hound’s servos looked exactly like one of his assigned mobility sequences. Sunstreaker had not performed one of his assigned mobility sequences from Creator since the cycle Sideswipe had demanded he stop. 

Sideswipe had replayed along their bond when Sunstreaker spun on a pede, instructing Sideswipe in proper form for mobility assessment, telling him Shockwave had watched him every cycle.

It had burned and scraped raw to feel Sideswipe’s anger toward him for insisting that proper maintenance was important because Creator said so. But Sunstreaker had obediently stopped his routine and complied with Sideswipe’s parameters so Sideswipe did not leave him alone. 

After four cycles, Sideswipe had seen Sunstreaker obsessively visually checking over the joints and cables of his frame; lines pressurizing and plating twitching in his agitation. 

Sunstreaker had ached to move and check their function.

He had missed his routine. 

So Sideswipe made him a new one, and attempted to correct his rigid form and lines. They had made it a game together, and Sideswipe came up with some of the most interesting combinations Sunstreaker had never considered.

The orientation of platforms, bars and rings Sunstreaker set up now in the combat training room however, was identical to the sequence he had performed for Shockwave on the happiest cycle of Sunstreaker’s life. 

The cycle Shockwave had repetitively put his servos together.

And defined applause.

Applause was a universal social constant both inside and outside the lab.

Applause had resonated through the Pits once Sunstreaker learned to prolong his matches.

Applause had stopped when he went too far for _normal_ mechs in his curiosity. 

Applause meant: approval, appreciation, or acclamation.

Applause was praise.

Sunstreaker had never tired of earning praise to know he was behaving as expected. 

Staring out at the identical sequence, Sunstreaker accessed memory files he hadn’t touched but had carefully preserved to be transferred into his adult frame. 

The cycle applause had been defined for him had been the short moment of hope in which he had almost had everything his traitorous, greedy spark desired.

Watching the scene on his HUD, the familiar and comforting sight of his Creator’s quarters came into view, overlapping the combat training platforms before him. 

Sunstreaker’s spark raced in time with Creation’s, watching the memory as his youngling frame completed through the assigned mobility sequence on the platform.

This memory file was from the cycle Creator had deviated from their routine, and assigned Creation a new complex sequence to perform on his mobility equipment to assess his joints and function. 

The assessment was routine, except Creator had already assessed his function earlier in the cycle. Eager to please his Creator, Creation had performed his second assessment in the same cycle. His spark leapt and raced in tempo as he thought of Bitlet while reaching out toward the delicate bond to his creator as he performed.

The single red optic of his Creator tracked his every twisting movement and transition between one to the next. Holding his pose at the end of the sequence, awaiting that single word of praise he craved, Creator pressed his servos together in a repetitive motion. 

A sharp noise emanated from where they came together. 

Acceptable or Unacceptable. 

That had been how Creator always ended his assessment. 

If his joint function was deemed Unacceptable, Creation would repeat the assigned routine sequence until he earned an Acceptable.

Five Unacceptables in a row, left Creation alone in his room to contemplate his error with his chronometer offline.

Desperate to not be locked up alone, he rarely failed his assigned sequence. 

On that cycle Creation had froze in his final pose when he heard the noise coming from between his Creator’s servos. Laboured ventilations stopping in an instant in an attempt to be as silent as possible, despite his frame’s need to cool his circuits after finishing his assigned routine.

Spark racing harder as the noise persisted, a pit formed in Creation’s fuel tank and he defaulted to being as still as possible with that new motion from Creator. 

He didn’t know what it meant, or how he was meant to react to it. 

But when encountering an action was neither defined as Acceptable or Unacceptable, and it was best not move to or risk generating any noise until further instruction came.

Further instruction always came from Creator.

Creator always defined clear parameters of behaviour.

“My Creation, this motion I am doing with my servos is called applause. It is a demonstration of approval, appreciation, or acclamation.” When Creation still didn’t move after his Creator’s explanation, Creator had explained further. “It means I am very pleased with your performance.”

Creation didn’t think his spark could race any harder or sing any louder toward his Creator.

Looking up, Creation shared one of his face shapes he had learned from Bitlet.

He couldn’t help it. 

He bit his lower lip as he smiled toward that solitary red optic he both feared and adored.

Creator was _pleased_ with his Creation. 

These moments with Creator, when the results of the procedures of their experiment with Bitlet remained, were more than Creation ever dared to hope. 

“Come.” Creator motioned from his place just off the elevated platform that held Creation’s mobility equipment in Creator’s quarters. Rising to standing, Creation hurried toward the edge of the platform, and Creator’s outstretched arms. Creator lifted him from the stage and spun him in a circle, causing Creation to laugh as he clung to his Creator’s brilliant purple frame. 

That shade of purple was Creation’s preferred colour, equal only to the red shade of his creator’s optic.

His first memory file was staring into that red optic, and reaching desperately for a connection to it with his spark. 

When his pedes hit the ground again, he looked up at his Creator with reverence, and nuzzled desperately against Creator’s servo as he stroked down the side of his face.

“You make me very pleased my Creation.”

In that moment, Creation behaved very Unacceptable under the force of the excitement in his spark and he impulsively reached to be picked up again. 

He practically melted in his frame when Creator indulged him and held him close.

In the corner, Bob broke his chain from where he had been whining while Creation performed his mobility assessment, and darted toward them, spinning and circling around their pedes. 

And Creator laughed as both of them looked down toward Bob being so illogical and _wiggly_. 

Creator had _laughed_.

Stopping the memory file abruptly before it continued, the disjointed pain in his spark from keeping control of his bond to Sideswipe in check became unbearable under Sideswipe’s enticements to come join him. Grating discord against the tattered festering bond that never disintegrated after that final procedure laden with guilt.

Sunstreaker reached up its putrid remains, only to hear his questions echo into nothing; leading to no where. 

To cope Sunstreaker launched to grab the rings he had suspended from chains. Hanging from his servos, he swung, building up momentum as he twisted up to invert himself between them, and begun the assigned sequence.

Comparing the movements of his frame now, along with the memory file of his past, he allowed his legs to trail down the harsh chains instead of smooth mesh as he released his grip on the rings. Pedes locking into the rings as he drifted down in time with the emotions of his memory, he twisted back up to grasp the rings in his servos.

Working his momentum into a swinging pendulum, he lifted himself up into a plank, lines rigid as he held the pose, then inverted as he reached the edge of his pendulum upswing, and flipped off the rings, performing a full twisting rotation and grasping the bar below.

With the memory file overlaid on his HUD, Sunstreaker could _see_ the attentive solitary optic of Shockwave assessing his every movement and he couldn’t help but twist away from Sideswipe’s disjointed enticements in his spark and give all his attention to his bond that should have been in a desperate effort to please.

Lifting his servos off the bar he launched into a full rotation of a flip only to grasp back onto the bar again and flip up to invert his form and balance on both servos. Lines and cables tight, he held is pose as his pedes pointed straight up in the air, then released the pressure as he sank down to spin only to twist and grab the next bar in the sequence.

Echoes of questions he ached to ask shot into nothing as he balanced, rolled, and twisted. Halting movements in sequence that now instinctually lead into kicks, punches, and evasive maneuvers, Sunstreaker lost himself to his original instructed movements and the emotional turmoil of his spark he could never manage to sort out.

Flipping end over end across the center platform he sprung upward, contorting his spinal strut toward the hoop he was aiming for -

When he fell short. 

And crashed to the ground.

Stunned as he slid across the third platform on his back, for a klick he simply stared up at his mark as his memory file of himself as a youngling easily contorted through and hung off the hoop from his knees, only to flip effortlessly off and continue the sequence.

Cutting off the memory file, the silence in the combat training room assaulted his audials.

Setting his jaw through the sharp pain, he tore off plating over his lower back strut that had jammed on his rotation. 

And started the sequence again.

After the fifth failure to complete the sequence, he simply lay where he landed. 

Ventilations struggling to cool his over stressed frame, he clenched his energon slicked servos into fists as he watched the memory files of the past overhead complete the sequence perfectly.

The echoes of Shockwave’s applause rang only through his cortex along with his Creator’s joyful laugh.

Abruptly he shut it off, and buried the memory file deep in his cortex again. 

That applause was not for Sunstreaker.

He failed.

He had made too many compromises to his frame’s mobility over the vorns, specific contorting movements never used in battle and deemed unwanted by Sideswipe.

As he lay among four pieces of plating he had shed from his frame, dripping a small pool of energon, his legs sparked -

And at the core of his being he just wanted to run back to Shockwave to report damage and ask why. 

Why hadn't he been told he had been trained to dance?

What function did it serve his original purpose?

But he feared he already knew the answer, given to him by Creator as he walked in silent shame through the brutally torn drones in the lab as Bitlet, still covered in his Carrier’s processed energon, kicked and screamed.

_”You are not intended for combat.”_

And Sideswipe was never intended to survive the final procedure.

Unbidden, Mirage’s words at Sunstreaker’s attempt to mimic behavior and have a casual conversation shot through his processor, the memory file of his own frame pacing along side two identical younglings that were smiling together in the hologram tore at his spark.

_”…but you are anything but the average mech aren’t you?”_

To deviate from the average meant Sunstreaker existed outside of the norm. 

To deviate outside of the norm meant he was an outlier. 

Sunstreaker’s spark was not an outlier spark, Sunstreaker did not exist along a normal distribution of mechs at all, therefore Sunstreaker was _weird_.

Weird was another word for abomination.

_Abomination was another word for monster._

_Heroes fight monsters._

The Autobot insignia on his chestplate burned with the disjointed agony of his spark as the knowledge of experiment 253c’s brief existence mocked Sunstreaker’s processor along side those happy younglings dancing among Hound’s servos; oblivious to the monster running along and mimicking them in sync beside them. 

Trying desperately to gain applause.

Applause equaled praise.

And Sunstreaker was so starved for it, he would contort himself any which way to earn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Applause: Sam Tsui (Lady Gaga Cover)](https://youtu.be/D1LG9bSNNZU) Click for extra feels. I imagine the Lady Gaga version for when they are in the Pits, and this version now as more of a reprise as Sunstreaker reflects.
> 
> Through a lot of Sunstreaker's interaction with Mirage, he was mimicking Mirage's behavior (the head nod in greeting and taking sips from his flute), and he looked toward Sideswipe initially to ensure he wasn't watching. Sideswipe can't stand it when Sunstreaker mimics emotions. Sunstreaker was genuinely geeking out about the science behind the vintage energon, then built his confidence by making a joke about Mirage being Hound's booty that he then pushed forward with his own interest in wanting to know if his theories of Mirage's electro-distruptor placement was correct. 
> 
> Mirage is right about holding up the crystal flute toward the light. Some of Shockwave's elite mannerisms remain and Sunstreaker learned to check the clarity of solutions in flasks in that manner, as well as understanding rinsing a vial or graduated cylinder with a solution before pouring it in.


	24. Cracks and Patches

“What did the two of you show him to set him off? Until then, that was the most I’ve seen him engage with anyone who is not Sideswipe.”

Rung stood beside Hound, watching as the door to the multipurpose room opened and hissed closed without any visible reason. Hound’s out stretched servo to grab Mirage hovered for a klick before it closed as he dropped it to his side in a fist. Cycling a calming ventilation, the tension left his servo and Hound turned to look at Rung, a slight frown on his face. 

“Mirage is chasing spark-ghosts of the past, and he’s just going to get hurt.” Giving a soft squeeze of support from where he had rested his servo on Hound’s upper arm plating, Rung also extended his field.

“I’m certain Mirage knows better than to reach out and try to touch Sunstreaker.”

“He’d never be so bold.” A quirk at the side of Hound’s lip took the edge of his mimicking tone, “But that’s not what I -“ He cycled another ventilation and shook his head, “It doesn’t matter, both of us were too excited to bond with a commonality in Sunstreaker, we pushed too fast and I fear now he’s just going to lock himself up further from the group.”

“You’ve noticed that?” Rung probed.

“Sure.” Hound shrugged and thumbed toward the dance floor without looking more than out of the corner of his optic, “I was on Cap’n Sideswipe’s crew with his First Mate Sunny. I was there when we met them. I was there when we crept up on them with that downed seeker and the two of them were bickering, slag the two of them were bickering even while downing the flyer over our heads.”

“And in the simulation?” His grip on Hound’s arm tightened a fraction.

“Sunstreaker hardly said a word unless he was snapping at someone that they were doing something wrong. Tore the paint brush right out of my grasp, said my lines were crooked and ordered me back to Sideswipe for reassignment.” Hound shifted on his pedes, glanced toward the door then looked back at Rung, “That’s all we got out of him until he and Sideswipe were removing munitions from those missiles we mounted on the side. The two of them went back to bickering and swatting at each other, but as soon as Sunstreaker noticed an audience, he’d rivet shut. Bluestreak stated he finally opened up some when it was just the two of them traveling the sectors searching for the enemy base, offered his servos for Bluestreak to place his pede in to hoist him up a ledge, and grasped him by the forearm to pull him up too.”

Information swirled in Rung’s cortex, focusing on behavior patterns and - there was a semblance of relief to hear that Sunstreaker would talk back to Sideswipe. But the threatening, possessive flare to Sideswipe’s field still nagged at Rung, as did how quickly Sunstreaker deleted his drawing at a slight wrinkle to Sideswipe’s nasal ridge.

What Rung had observed in his session warred with the interaction he had seen with Mirage and the feeling of an uncomfortable gaping hole began to form in his fuel tank.

“And the hologram you showed him? I only heard a part of -”

“I shouldn’t have shown it, it’s personal.” Hound’s jaw tightened a fraction.

The mingling edges of Hound’s field withdrew and Rung removed his servo from his arm with a final squeeze, “I appreciate that the two of you reached out to him Hound, despite how it ended. My door is always open and I fear more and more Autobots are simply avoiding me now. My schedule is more clear than it should be. I’d like the company when you are on base, and I always enjoy your enthusiasm.”

“Thanks Rung, I know I can talk a mech into recharge when I get carried away,” A barked out laugh shot from Hound’s vocalizer as he slapped a servo on Rung’s shoulder, “Oh Primus, I’ve got to suggest that to Jazz. I bet after three cycles alone with me talking about the nesting habits of the laserbirds in the Spire Peaks west of Vos, the ‘Con would tell us anything we want to know to make me stop.”

With a parting nod, Hound walked away toward Bumblebee, glancing again as the door to the multipurpose room opened, but only Cliffjumper and Brawn were exiting the party.

Sideswipe’s cackling cheer rang through the room, and that brief instant in their session that Rung couldn’t get out of his processor rose to the surface again.

“Or perhaps you’d find a willing audial among them.” Rung whispered to himself, then made his way through the party, tank sinking and thought processes racing at the feelings shooting through his lines he couldn’t quite grasp.

There were some Autobots that after their assessment, Rung simply never saw in his office. Hound had a greater awareness of his own behavior and healthy outlets than most, even when they first met. Rung had always credited it to his experience working with turbo hounds. Through the vorns of this long war, Rung had had many conversations with Hound over Cybertronian fauna in social settings. Some of the parallels between mechanimal behaviour and Rung’s own work was fascinating. 

Hound always maintained that he’d never find what he was tracking if he didn’t learn how their thought processes worked. 

Weaving through crowds of over charged mechs, skirting the edge of the dance floor, Rung arrived silently at the table with the mech he was seeking. The ongoing conversation reaching his audials.

“That will never work Wheeljack, the range doesn’t extend far enough and it takes the shape in an arc for a reason. The tightest possible group any collection of particles can achieve is to pack it together in a sphere.”

“So we place two receiving generators on the opposite side. Force it to stretch out.” Wheeljack positioned two empty cubes across a line of wires that had been stretch across the table. Two lines of them, with a gulf of empty table between.

“That defeats the purpose of using Trailbreaker’s forcefield as a bridge!” Perceptor huffed, and pointed at the empty cubes Wheeljack had just positioned, “How did you get the generators to the opposite side of the canyon, what we are crossing?”

Odd bits of metal had been hastily labelled and were grouped on the opposite side of the gulf between the two wires: Trailbreaker, Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Ratchet.

Wheeljack pulled out spare bit of metal from his subspace and hastily scrawled on a glyph, then placed it in the group. 

Helm horns flashing purple along with his field in triumphant victory, Wheeljack crowed, “Bluestreak shot them across, obviously.”

“The power source would be massive -“

“So we miniaturize them.”

Rung extended his field to announce his presence, and a fraction of a klick later, placed his servo on Wheeljack’s shoulder.

“Pardon me Wheeljack, Ratchet I’d like a private word.”

All amusement at Wheeljack and Perceptor’s over charged science plots left Ratchet’s face, cube of hi-grade hovering at his lips.

This party, and the hi-grade flowing, put a strain on their dwindling resources. But Optimus had requisitioned it. One night, he had maintained; let the base have one night without rations to welcome their new Autobots. 

Jazz had somehow made it happen, and Rung suspected the mech had secret stores of the stuff set away precisely for moral moments like this when Optimus requested it.

And Rung hated to intrude on Ratchet’s rare moment of downtime, but he feared he couldn’t wait. He needed to know before his next session with Sunstreaker tomorrow if he was going to start to lose him through the cracks too.

Ratchet met his optics, “My office or yours?”

“Yours.”

The Autobot CMO simply rose, and Rung followed him.

It didn’t escape Rung’s notice that Ratchet brought his cube of hi-grade with him, nor that he topped it up before they left.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Once the door to Ratchet’s office sealed, Rung started without preamble.

“As you are aware, I have only made my preliminary recommendation, but before I make my final recommendation to Optimus, I need to ensure that you are truly ready to take Sunstreaker on for medic training.”

“You read my report.” Ratchet nodded toward the chair on the other side of his desk, and Rung perched on the edge of the seat as Ratchet took his behind his desk, “I’d be a fool not to want Sunstreaker trained as a field medic, the mech can fight and he’s almost as resourceful as Wheeljack. You know I’ve had to rely on Wheeljack and the science division more and more for innovative solutions. Resources are becoming scarce, we’re stripping down the dead post battle for parts, forging new what we can but we lack the factories and fabrication infrastructure. Sunstreaker has some obvious gaps in his medical knowledge, but he bypassed systems within Sideswipe I didn’t know _could_ be bypassed. A mech with skills like his can fight his way to wounded, and help keep them functional long enough until they can make it to a proper Mobile Repair Bay, or Iacon.”

“Prowl also submitted a report of his projected Autobot lives that could be save by deploying both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker together, they are an incredibly effective team.” Rung countered and Ratchet scowled toward his cube.

“Prowl pointedly omitted the lives that could be saved with Sunstreaker properly trained,” Taking a sip from his cube, servo tightening on the cube after he swallowed, “He’s manipulating the variables again. He’s got his sights set on some long term goal, something he has projected and it has to do with those two new idiots riding around on the backs of seekers.”

A piece of that unidentifiable feeling snapped into place like a knife in his fuel tank with what Rung had been mulling around in his processor about placing their new recruits. 

Bluestreak. 

Prowl had come to talk to Rung about Bluestreak; how he was concerned that Bluestreak had worked so hard to hone the skills to become a sniper specifically to target seekers. That Prowl was struggling with treating Bluestreak objectively as a soldier. 

With viewing the youngling that had clung and locked his field to Prowl’s as a life line, as a variable of war. 

They had talked about the realities of war, that Prowl, as his commanding officer on the field, couldn’t shield Bluestreak from his own choices as an adult. That Jazz had gone behind Prowl’s back to begin training Bluestreak in interrogation, as was his right as Head of Spec Ops to draft and train any mech as an operative without consulting the Head of Tactics.

The lines between personal life and military life had become muddled and blurred so as to be non-existent, there simply was no civilian life among the Autobots, or way for Bluestreak to participate as an Autobot in which he wouldn’t be under Prowl or Jazz’s divisions with his skills. 

A bitter taste rose up his intake as Rung’s processor raced.

“What? Didn’t think I heard the rumors?” With Rung’s thoughts going internal, Ratchet had misinterpreted his sudden silence.

“No,” Rung muttered while replaying the interactions had observed of Sideswipe with others, “With the way rumors fly through this base, I imagine Sideswipe and Sunstreaker now took on twenty-one seekers with a rusted blade and optic patches.” 

“Bah!” Ratchet dismissed with a wave of his servo, “It has hardly gotten that bad.” 

“And the rumors involving Sunstreaker as the Golden Butcher of Polyhex?”

Pausing with his cube at his lips, Ratchet narrowed his optics at Rung’s pointed connection to where he had guided their conversation.

“You know as well as I he didn’t take out fifty Autobots and Decepticons with only a blade.”

“Do your patients know that?”

Ratchet opened his mouth to snap out a retort, then snapped it shut as his optics narrowed further into slits. Shifting forward in his chair, he jabbed a digit on his desk, “You know I don’t tolerate any slag hurled toward my medics. It will take time, but I can work with Sunstreaker’s less than optimal social skills, he won’t be on shift without shadowing me. I hardly need him to hold patients by the servo, and I have not forgotten the alarming statement he made to me. I reported it to you immediately.”

Relief warred with his churning fuel tank, and Rung’s digits twitched, aching to repair a model spaceship. 

Relief that Sunstreaker had a place to go so Rung could evaluate him further, warring with the bitter taste that it was necessary to place him at all.

Relief, that despite his skill in combat and reputation, Rung could shield Sunstreaker with Ratchet in the Medbay and hopefully make some progress, instead of where he predicted he might otherwise end up.

On a team who would be delighted to have him _because_ of the rumors. 

Would Prowl even deny the request for Sunstreaker’s transfer before launch once he calculated the statistics?

No. 

Rung needed _Ratchet_ to fully understand what taking on Sunstreaker as a medic meant, and he straightened his posture.

“You are of course, well aware that Red Alert is my oldest surviving patient, and I am afraid the war has done his paranoia little good.”

Snorting, Ratchet leaned back in his chair, cube of hi-grade in his servo, “I have seen him often enough when he runs himself to glitch.”

“I am also aware that Red Alert, _despite my strong recommendation_ , will be leaving on the Ark.” Rung rested his servos in his lap as Ratchet’s optics widened with understanding. 

“You’re…not coming with us.”

Rung shook his head, “And Optimus is only taking volunteers. He won’t force anyone to leave their home in search of resources, or a new one elsewhere. And as much as I miss space travel, I can’t. There are too many others that have already fallen through the cracks Ratchet, I can’t leave them behind.”

The Autobot CMO narrowed his optics at Rung, then took a stiff drink as he muttered, “Whirl and the other Wreckers.”

“I was against the formation of Prowl’s Wreckers for his quote _”unplaceable,”_ since its inception.” Jaw clenched tight, Rung tried to not let that battle he had lost weigh him down, but the introduction of Sunstreaker…

“It’s not Sunstreaker’s technical skills you are concerned about him learning before we launch.” Ratchet hazarded as a perceptive guess, “If I take him in as a medic for additional training, Sunstreaker launches too.”

“I have barely scratched the surface with him, three joors is hardly enough time.” Rung sighed and wilted on the chair, “It’s never enough, I can keep mechs afloat in this war but - it’s what we’ve become isn’t it? Divisions, lines, us and them - we’ve been fighting this war and it’s _worse_ than it was before.”

Plating shuffled and there was a slight clink as Ratchet set his cube of hi-grade down on his desk and straightened his posture, “What brought this on all of the sudden?”

“Sideswipe.” 

The realization Rung had made from interacting with and observing Sideswipe, from fretting over Sunstreaker’s placement, and connecting it all to Prowl’s concern with viewing Bluestreak as a “variable of war” still stabbed. 

When had Cybertron become nothing but this?

Rung fidgeted a finger on the arm of the chair as Ratchet raised his brow ridges at Rung’s single word answer, waiting for him to continue, and Rung struggled to explain the feeling he was barely grasping himself.

“It’s…the way Sideswipe enters a space. He lights up the room - he lights up mech’s fields; they are drawn to him and his stories. You saw his team after the simulation, they were all laughing Ratchet, _Trailbreaker_ was practically glowing. Bumblebee and Mirage joined in, and if Roller hadn’t had his limbs immobilized he would have too. As it was, he was laughing his aft off in the end, and practically floored Sideswipe when he pat him on the back after he received his Autobot insignia. Optimus called all personnel on base to the training zone, and even Ultra Magnus looked proud.”

He kept his observation that _Sunstreaker_ had been playing along in his own way until Optimus - an authority figure - had dropped down to join, to himself. Sunstreaker had defaulted onto one knee in a bow of subservience, correcting himself to be caught having pointless _fun_. 

It had curdled Rung’s tanks.

“Sideswipe’s new…and loud.” Ratchet scoffed, “He’s hard to miss.” 

“His best friend was from Vos.” Rung blurted almost to himself then held up his servo, and Ratchet closed his mouth, “It’s no secret, he’ll tell you the story himself. The majority of the stories from his life take place in Vos and Praxus, but he exudes none of the fallout of their ashes. He speaks of moving seamlessly between them without bitter acid of the past, he speaks of friends from all across Cybertron, mechs whose paths should have never intersected in the societal structure of pre-uprising Cybertron, but they all have a central nexus point with him. When he meets you, he genuinely wants to know your story. He wants to hear everything about you and he’s not digging for information. His optics light up and…”

Shaking his head as he trailed off, Rung had replayed Sideswipe’s session over and over again almost as much as he had Sunstreaker’s, and he couldn’t get the image of Sideswipe eagerly scooting his chair toward him, asking to hear about _Rung’s_ life, out of his processor. 

He had been enamored, earnestly eager to hear all about Rung despite the attention deflectors Rung wore over his optics to keep patients focused on themselves.

Later in the session though, something Rung couldn’t identify shut him down, and he started deliberately deflecting as the eagerness from his earlier enthusiasm dimmed.

“I don’t precisely see your point.” Ratchet prompted.

“My point is Sideswipe has somehow managed to achieve a post war worldview we can only vaguely hope to achieve. There is too much history, too much pain, too much destruction, that we as such a long lived species simply won’t forget and move on. We won’t stop looking back long enough to focus on what we have to work with now to plan any sort of future.”

“It is naive to think Megatron will ever simply get past -“

“Cybertronians, Ratchet.” Rung stood up and leaned on Ratchet’s desk, staring him straight in the optic, “Sideswipe sees _everyone_ he meets as a Cybertronian with a past. With hopes, and dreams. But what do we see? We see gladiators, Decepticons, scavengers. We see combat ability, we see medical training, we see statistics. We put them through standardized tests, we check boxes, we make notes.” Incensed, Rung smacked his palm on the table, “We _still_ see function first!”

The fire left his frame and he collapsed back into his chair. 

“We still see function first.” Rung grimaced as he rested his head in his servos, “Except now our function is war, destruction, and scrambling to preserve the remnants we have left. We are more polarized than ever.”

With a creek of joints, Rung heard Ratchet rise, and the tap of his pedes on the floor as he made his way around his desk. A weight descended on Rung’s shoulder and Ratchet extended his field in solidarity.

“I think you might be giving Sideswipe too much credit,” The servo on his shoulder squeezed in support.

A thick silence descended between them and Rung accepted Ratchet’s supporting field in his own as he continued to stare down at his lap.

“I keep making conclusions about him, then he turns around and blows them away.”

“Sideswipe?”

Rung shook his head, and sighed, “If he’s placed with Prowl he - I think…I _hope_ Sideswipe has been protecting him by keeping him away from the war, but once Prowl is off world,” Rung took off his glasses and stared directly up at Ratchet, “Impactor will want him.”

Ratchet’s engine went silent under the implications. Rung had been very vocal to Optimus about his concern of Impactor’s increasing violent sociopathic behavior and Whirl’s declining mental state any time the Wrecker’s converged in Iacon.

Heavy, cycled ventilations resonated in Rung’s audials as Ratchet leaned back against his desk and reached for his cube, “It’s unrealistic to shield Sunstreaker from combat. Even as a medic, I need him out in the field eventually. He’s not like First Aid, I can’t protect him in my Medbay.”

“I know.”

“And what of Sideswipe? He and Sunstreaker are stuck at the hip, he’s going to be plaguing me and mine. I can feel it in my struts.”

“Honestly Ratchet, I’d prefer to evaluate both of them longer, but after what I observed this evening from both of them, I don’t know, something between them is just -”

The medic across from him snorted, “A conjunx endura bond does not imply monogamy, and Sideswipe is hardly the only one who drowns himself in hi-grade to cope with the stress of this war,” Ratchet smiled sardonically as he held his cube of hi-grade he was nursing higher then took a sip and schooled his features, “but that’s not what you are talking about, is it?”

Rung shook his head, suppressing his own concern at Sunstreaker’s revving irritation when he stormed away from the group as Sideswipe became overcharged. Or the increased tension to his frame as he watched Sideswipe gyrate himself against others on the dance floor, Rung was not here to gossip about who fragged who.

“They’re a clash of contradictions. It’s no secret among Command that Sunstreaker claims Kaon as his city of origin, and on the surface it makes sense to assume he’s spent most of his life in the Pits -”

“I’m sensing a but coming.”

“Sunstreaker’s educated. He hides it, but he went toe to toe in a conversation with Mirage tonight, and impressed him, then predicted precisely the location of Mirage’s electro-disrupter in his frame, that it’s connected to his spark and -”

“He _WHAT_?” The shock in Ratchet’s tone cut through the room and he straightened, “Not even my medical staff knows. That information is locked down in his file,” His voice lowered to a hissing whisper despite his office having strict privacy controls in place, “the risk to Mirage if that were to reach Decepticon audials…”

Rung matched his tone, “He claimed to figure it out based on observing fuel consumption alone and bragged about it. He’s not just educated Ratchet, Sunstreaker’s observant, but get him with Sideswipe and he’ll hardly say a word if anyone’s around.”

The Autobot CMO stared down at his cube of hi-grade and furrowed his brow in thought, then looked up to meet Rung’s optics again and set his cube on the desk behind him. Leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Optimus, before he was Prime, was originally drawn to Megatron because of his impassioned political treaties, back when the two of them -“ His face pinched, then he pushed himself from his desk, “Come with me.”

Rising, Rung followed Ratchet through his Medbay to a storage closet, inputting the code, the doors retracted with a hiss, and Rung’s fuel tank contorted to see internal components laid out and labelled on rows after rows of shelves.

“Ratchet -“

A servo was held out to silence him, and Ratchet disappeared behind the shelves, “Megatron’s self taught. He’s observant, cunning, and often ten steps ahead of his opponents, but Sunstreaker…” He appeared again wheeling a cart, a bizarre array of components, some of which - 

“Is that a control module from a fuel dispenser?” Moving closer Rung peered down at the pile. 

“I see you recognize some of these. This is the pile of components I found _inside_ Sideswipe, wired, soldered or _clamped_ to his systems.” Energon drained from Rung’s head threatening to pool in his pedes, “I don’t have a place to store them because they simply _do not belong_ inside a mech or in a Medbay. Three of these were connected to a device I’ve never seen that encases Sideswipe’s spark.”

“You think Sunstreaker is self taught?” Vocalizer stuttering in static, Rung’s fuel tank felt as if it has sunk through to the floor, and he looked up to meet Ratchet’s optics, “Ratchet the experimentation involved in order to -“

“No.” Ratchet picked up a component that could have belonged to any control panel and extended it to Rung, numbly, Rung took it and spun it in his hands, it was connected to a circuit system he couldn’t identify, something from pre war, before the space ports of Staniz in the north and Tyrest in the mid-south were destroyed and galactic trade cut off. “His welds are impeccable. His cuts: precise and clean. That component is partially organic carbon nanotubing, who knows where from. And to wire _that_ into Sideswipe’s spark for energy - Rung, if Sunstreaker didn’t know what he was doing he would have _killed_ him. Now you tell me if you think that is a risk Sunstreaker would _ever_ take with Sideswipe after meeting the two of them?”

Gobsmacked, Rung shook his head as he trailed a digit along a perfectly symmetrical weld. Impeccable, meticulous, like Sunstreaker’s drawing of the two of them with himself staring at Sideswipe from behind, and whispered more to himself, “Sideswipe is his everything.”

 _Perfectionist._

The anxiety visible only through a twitch of digits of not completing his drawing as if it were an assignment he could pass or fail, his reported attempt to read the entire ten thousand pages of the Autobot Code in one night, hyper-fixation on a running chromometer…

“Like I stated,” The component was plucked from Rung’s servo along with the grasping processes at what was still missing, and Ratchet disappeared with the cart back behind his shelves of replacement parts, his voice echoing out, “I’ve never met a more overprotective conjunx. Spark fusion diversion into systems for energy is fickle, and since Pharma took off with Neutrals we simply haven’t had a sparkologist in our ranks. I’m the most qualified but I’m hardly an expert, even I had to call Wheeljack to help with the calculations to remove these while replacing Sideswipe with proper components. Only Triage out of my medics is remotely qualified to deal with spark fusion power generation and potential feed back that would fry circuits in an emergency situation if all other efforts have been exhausted.” 

He returned again and crossed his arms in front of himself, his field practically pulsing in determination.

“Now you tell me Sunstreaker figured out something that complicated based on observing _fuel consumption_? No.” Ratchet shook his head, as that word rumbled from his vocalizer, “That mech is anything but self taught, but he wasn’t trained by any official medical institution on Cybertron, and I need that fresh perspective he brings in my Medbay Rung. You want a Cybertron where function doesn’t dictate placement? You place that mech from Kaon who has been using his observations of mech’s frames to tear them apart in war and for survival into my Medbay, and I’ll turn that so-called butcher into a healer who can pull off miracles under fire.”

“And if he’s not from Kaon?” It didn’t make any sense. It fit, the behavioral markers of social isolation and limited handler contact _fit_ the Pits of Kaon, but if he wasn’t taught just to fight in the ring, what use did they have training him up as a spark specialist?

Ratchet scoffed, “As if I care, even before the fall I was more at home in my free clinic in Dead End than serving my function for false Primes, corrupt senators, and the elite. Both of them are riddled with mods, it makes sense that he could have been raised as the Pit’s own medic.”

“And it doesn’t bother you, even a little bit that Sunstreaker apparently learned to be a spark specialist in the Pits of Kaon.” Rung pushed.

Staring back at Rung, Ratchet's lip tugged up at one corner and he shook his head, “Based on what I found inside both of them? I’m inclined to believe Sideswipe’s claim that he’s from no where and everywhere, those mechs are wearing gladiator frames from Kaon, but they haven’t been _of_ Kaon in a long time.”

Walking out of the storage room, Rung gratefully followed as he pointedly didn’t look at the shelves. He knew of course. Everyone knew resources were scare but seeing the shelves lined in parts, a phantom charge quivered through his lines. 

“You want to stop putting labels on them,” Ratchet grumbled as they moved through the Medbay, “Maybe Sunstreaker found an old reclusive wise mech in the Manganese Mountains to teach him while he was taming scraplets for pets.”

And despite the nagging in Rung’s processor that the profile still didn’t quite fit, he couldn’t help but emit a soft chuckle at Ratchet’s dry humor, “Now who is over exaggerating Sideswipe’s stories and starting rumors. Admit it, you’ve been listening to Sideswipe in the multipurpose room at night.”

“And I told you, it’s hard not to. He’s _loud_ , he’s going to be a menace on this base when he’s not on the frontlines, and he thinks the Matrix shines out of Sunstreaker’s shiny aft so he’s going to plague my every step. Trust me, training Sunstreaker is worth the risk of having those two in my Medbay oogling each other, ugh,” Ratchet dragged a servo down his face, “After all these vorns they look at each other all _mushy_ when they think no one’s looking. And Sideswipe’s face - he was practically melting into Sunstreaker’s spark when I was repairing him. Now I’m never going to be rid of him.”

Rung halted in his step, and reached out to turn Ratchet back toward him, “You’ve seen the look Jazz claims to have seen their first night with them? When he witnessed them initiate a merge?”

“Yea, though they at least have the decency to take off out of my Medbay to go mush themselves together, I found them welded in the washracks, and I dragged them back in here. I talked to Sunstreaker in my office and his idiot conjunx kept making faces at him through my one way observation window. When I finally kicked Sunstreaker out to rest, I thought for a moment they were going to cram themselves onto one medberth.” Ratchet’s optics narrowed, “Why?”

“It’s just, something in the past brought those two vastly different mechs together, and I can’t help but think -“ Rung looked down and pushed his two index fingers together as he frowned, “I don’t know, it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, now.”

A barking single ‘ha’ emitted from Ratchet’s vocalizer, and Rung looked back up toward him, “It can’t be more ridiculous than the slag Sideswipe’s been spouting off for attention the past decacycle, mech’s been away from civilization too long. He touches and riffles through everything.”

Cycling a ventilation Rung rubbed above his optical ridge.

“Has anyone asked them if they are conjunx endura? All we are going on is Jazz’s conclusion we shouldn’t and I admit the evidence is compelling, but -“

“Those mechs are bonded. Trust me. I don’t know how they managed to get their sparks in sync enough to form the connection knowing one of them could die at any moment in the Pits, but devotion that can over come those odds, it’s no wonder they are so damned over-protective of each other - the number of conjunx bonds in the Autobots that have been able to form in this war, is a short list.” Ratchet shook his head, “A conjunx bond in the Pits would have been a liability and to be able to truly open oneself up to another in those conditions -“

All expression cleared Ratchet’s face, his optics lost focus as he place a digit to his audial, a courtesy to mechs around to know they were receiving a private call over comms. Optics focusing again they snapped to meet Rung’s as Ratchet frowned and called out to adjoining rooms, “Fixit, First Aid, prepare two medberths for incoming.” 

Turning, Ratchet stormed across the Medbay, grabbed his emergency repair kit from the shelf by the door and Rung scrambled after him, “Ratchet what happened?”

“Sunstreaker.” Ratchet bit out like a curse.

“What about him?”

“Sunstreaker happened! Cliffjumper’s on his way to the Medbay short an arm, Brawn is missing a servo, Mirage has a crushed nasal ridge, and Prowl apparently called him off.”

“Then where are you headed?”

“The brig.” Snapping out over his shoulder, Ratchet placed a digit over his audial again and cursed, “Prowl stated Sunstreaker requires medical attention, but now is apparently operating on himself.” 

Stopping short in his tracks, Rung watched as Ratchet increased his speed, pushed open the doors to the Medcenter, transformed, and disappeared out of sight across the Autobot main compound in Iacon. 

Pede steps echoing down the hallway as he walked alone heading out of the corridor leading to the Medcenter, Rung tried to process how to proceed in Sunstreaker’s session tomorrow. 

Perhaps he would simply be making a visit to the brig instead. 

Heading to his office to jot down a few notes based on the cycle’s events he bypassed by way of a corridor near the main hub of the multipurpose room. Giggling cut off with a loud shush reached his audial and out of the corner of his optic he caught Smokescreen with his legs wrapped around Sideswipe, Sideswipe’s servos roving his aft while nipping at Smokescreen’s neck cables as Smokescreen reached back and fumbled a door panel. After a few aborted attempts, the door opened and they fell back into a closet up far up the hall.

The soft hiss of the door cycling shut cut off their initial groans and giggles from impact, morphing into scraping plating and muffled moans.

And the sentence he didn’t get to finish to Ratchet echoed in his cortex.

Ratchet had calmed some of Rung’s fears that Sideswipe might be purposefully manipulating Sunstreaker, but the timing of Sunstreaker lashing out…and the things about their sessions Rung couldn’t share...

Starting to get all his thought processes tied up in knots with his emotions, Rung continued to his office to connect the parts of the model ship Red Alert had opened to examine for listening devices, hoping to snap his own feelings into place with his cathartic hobby.

But that single nagging sentence wouldn’t leave him.

_I fear they are a fuel canister waiting to explode, and the cracks are forming between them under pressure._

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Hurried pedes patterned out a clanging echo as Ratchet rushed down the final corridor toward the brig. The disdainful hiss of high class upbringing reached Ratchet’s audials first.

“I told you. It was a personal matter, but he didn’t start it.”

Turning the corner, Mirage stood poised, dabbing at energon dripping from his crumbled nasal ridge and glaring at Prowl.

Arms crossed in front of himself, sensor panels ridged, Prowl was every inch of authority and command as he stared back.

“And what _pray tell_ is a personal enough matter to keep from your commanding officer to justify why I saw him slice off Brawn’s servo, slam your face against a wall, and hoist up Cliffjumper? Cliffjumper, who I may add, already had his arm detached before I arrived.”

“All do respect, _sir_.” Tone holding a sharp edge, Mirage narrowed his optics further, “You are not _my_ commanding officer, nor have I _ever_ been in your direct chain of command.” 

Grip tightening on his emergency medical kit, Ratchet stormed the final distance up the hallway and locked optics with Prowl, “Which cell.”

If it was anyone else other than these two mechs before him, fields would have battered against Ratchet’s own on his arrival based on the lasers the two of them were practically shooting at each other through their optics.

But with the arrival of Ratchet, Prowl was straight to business, turning away from Mirage and walking with Ratchet toward the cell block, “I will accompany you.”

Scoffing, Ratchet rolled his optics, “That’s hardly necessary, he doesn’t frighten me.”

Passing Fortress Maximus stationed at the entrance, Prowl brought their conversation over the encrypted medical comms, ::He was allegedly injured before the altercation, he stopped instantly at my reprimand of his behaviour, followed me to the brig, and became extremely agitated when I instructed him into the cell. For a moment I thought he might attack me until I reiterated that violence toward his comrades was simply unacceptable and not tolerated in the Autobot ranks, and he complied. Then he began to reattach his own backplating despite my assurance he would receive medical attention.::

::Cause of his injuries?::

Prowl shook his helm, as he input the code to the cellblock of the brig, ::Mirage states it was a personal matter.::

::Recordings?::

::Red Alert states Sunstreaker stood in the combat training room for a time but when he exited, there was evidence of fresh welds and energon on his plating. When I came upon the scene, a portion of his backplate was on the ground and he had Cliffjumper pinned to a wall in short order with Cliffjumper’s blaster locked on his abdominal plating.::

::Mirage jammed the signal.:: Denta grinding in irritation, Ratchet internally cursed. ::Is Jazz testing Sunstreaker for Spec Ops?::

::Would he tell me if he was?:: The bitter tinge hadn’t quite made it out of Prowl’s snapped response; Mirage had rubbed that barb deep.

Surely Jazz wouldn’t. 

He knew Ratchet wanted Sunstrakers as a medic but…slaggit, if Jazz could get his own medic who specialized in spark energy, he could close his security hole of having to bring Mirage to Ratchet. Had he worked that fast as soon as Sunstreaker divulged his knowledge to Mirage?

The main energon line in Ratchet’s neck twitched. 

The electro-magnetic locks of the armored door thunked then hissed as it retracted.

The familiar acrid scent of processed energon and heated cybermetal plating along with the soft hiss of a welding torch assaulted Ratchet’s senses as he pushed past Prowl into the main hall of the brig.

Ratchet knew of course.

He knew from his repairs on Sunstreaker, that Sunstreaker had been performing repairs and surgery not just on Sideswipe, but on himself.

But to see it -

Sunstreaker stood facing the energy bars, his arms contorted behind his back, reconnecting and welding on a segment of his backplating. Processed energon trailed down the back plating of his legs, a few drips reaching the floor. His optics unfocused and dim, indicating all his attention was on his HUD -

And his face blank in his internal focus.

By the All Spark.

Only vorns of experience kept Ratchet’s control of the flare building in his field. The medic in Ratchet couldn’t settle on whether he was impressed, or horrified as a whisper at the back of his cortex suggested reasons _why_ Sunstreaker would have learned to repair himself in this way.

The mech knew his own systems and internal layout so well that he was essentially repairing himself with his optics offline, by touch and internal proximity scanners alone.

A few klicks after Ratchet’s and Prowl’s arrival, the hiss and electric hum of the mobile emergency welding torch Sunstreaker must carry in his subspace clicked off, and Sunstreaker simply stood facing them, regarding them in silence. 

None of his engine revving or stomping of pedes, no harsh grumbles or irritable growls. 

He was running as silent as when Ratchet had threatened to kick him out of his Medbay, and despite his injury that should have him holding his plating slightly from his frame as he waited for his self repair to finish the integration of his welds -

His plating was pulled slick against his frame, and his right servo was gripped tight around his welding torch, his left balled into a fist. 

With no expression on his face he appeared to be a silent simmering fury, and cautiously Ratchet extended his field toward him, unsurprised to find Sunstreaker’s no where near the edges of his frame, and Ratchet didn’t probe further. 

That was enough to know Sunstreaker had it clamped down tight around his spark.

And maybe it was because Ratchet had spent the greater part of his evening under the looming insignia of the Autobot’s with a goofy optic patch, but something about seeing the freshly painted Autobot insignia on Sunstreaker’s chest plate gave the appearance of golden optic fluid dripping from its optics.

Weeping.

_Slaggit all, Optimus._

Cycling a ventilation, Ratchet took in the pointed focused look of Sunstreaker’s optics directed on the wall behind both of them, and locked down the brig. ::Prowl I need to talk to him alone.::

::Ratchet -::

::It is a medical matter, I expect you to treat it accordingly.::

Far too skilled in controlling his own emotions to huff, Prowl abruptly turned and walked away. 

Regulated and controlled pede steps headed into the distance until the armored door thunked then hissed as it retracted, and again reengaging as it closed.

::The cameras have been disengaged.:: Voice cool and professional, Ratchet simply responded in kind.

::Acknowledged.::

And he addressed the mech standing motionless in the cell an arm’s length away from him.

“Sunstreaker are you still actively leaking energon from anywhere?” 

“No.” The response was immediate, short, and cold. 

His gaze didn’t move from the wall.

“Are you in pain?”

Sunstreaker continued to stand silently coiled tight, clamped down in his abject terror of the unknown punishment he was about to receive, his silence causing red hot anger to flare though Ratchet’s spark. 

Had _anyone_ thought to explain the consequences of breaking one of the Autobot’s rules to a mech they suspected was raised in the Pits?

To a mech whose own conjunx spat out at the main gate of Iacon that Decepticons punished their own members by strapping them to a table, ripping out parts and prodding at sparks.

The sharp edge to Sideswipe’s field then, indicated it had happened to either himself, or Sunstreaker.

Perhaps both.

“Are you in pain Sunstreaker?” Ratchet calmly repeated.

Hard blue optics shifted from the wall to focus on Ratchet’s face, and when he spoke, his voice lacked any inflection. “Does it matter?”

His answer: enough to curdle Ratchet’s fuel tank.

Not since his clinic in Dead End had Ratchet felt the simultaneous breaking of his spark as it twisted in finely tuned revulsion and rage.

At the senate.

At the false Primes.

At himself and his own privileged function that was never enough to do more than slap patches on a broken system. 

Countless frames turning grey under his own servos as the ground shook and shrapnel shot through the wounded, countless vacant optics staring at walls while senators and the elite chittered about trends and the latest fashions. Countless vorns of trying to heal and place his own servos over a gushing wound with dwindling resources. 

Patches. 

That’s all it ever was; patches before the same mech came into his Medbay again but this time they lacked the proper parts. If not this time, than the next.

And Sunstreaker had thought that _Ratchet_ had been called to punish him, to torture him, because of course he did! He had learned to take his punishment of pain and not complain, but the Autobots were new to him, what was possibly running through this mech’s cortex for how he was about to be punished?

How had _Ratchet_ overlooked this detail? 

Rung was right.

Frag the procedures, frag issuing out the Autobot Code, they should have taken them both aside instead of contorting them through tests and assessments.

Fighting over a mech and his placement like he was some kind of resource; some engine of war.

Bah.

The Autobots were better than this. _Ratchet_ was better than this.

_They had to be, or what had they become?_

“It damn well does matter.” Ratchet snapped as he took a step closer to the energy bars, and Sunstreaker’s optics stayed locked on his face while he impossibly clamped his plating tighter. “You listen to me Sunstreaker, each and every Autobot’s pain on this forsaken planet is under _my_ dominion. I am the Chief Medical Officer of all of fragging Cybertron as far as I’m concerned. I will not tolerate my patients standing silently in pain if there is something I can do about it. So I ask you again, and this time I expect a proper answer: Sunstreaker, are you in pain?”

Standing right outside the bars of the brig, Ratchet looked up into the optics of the mech who towered over him by at least a helm as he waited for a response.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft whirl of essential internal systems, easily blending into the background operating hum of the brig.

The silence stretched so long, Ratchet’s fuel pump became more audible to his own systems, and he shifted his weight on his pedes.

“My spark is damaged.” Sunstreaker finally reported, “I’m always in pain.”

“You did not damage your spark because you were late for your upgrade into your adult frame did you?” Ratchet asked more softly.

“No.”

Thinking back to the impeccably detailed medical forms Sunstreaker had filled out for both himself and Sideswipe, Ratchet’s processor snagged on a simple line that he had assumed had been simply overlooked on Sunstreaker’s, where Sideswipe’s was filled. 

“Do you know how old you are Sunstreaker? The date of your emergence?”

Two cycles of ventilation passed before Sunstreaker answered.

“No.”

Understanding dawned on Ratchet, and he suspected he knew the answer to his question of why Sunstreaker had been late for his upgrade, but now he had to know for certain.

“Then how did you know when you needed an upgrade?”

“When processed energon began to leak from my nasal cavity, and audials, I began to convulse as my spark scraped across its casing shooting out excess charge through my systems when the expansion of my spark’s chromosphere could no longer be contained. I had seen it happen before, and I knew.”

His answer was delivered as if he had read it in a medical text, despite the excruciating pain he must have lived through. Or perhaps, because of it.

Considering what he had learned about Sunstreaker from Rung, Ratchet broached the topic Sunstreaker had previously been unwilling to discuss with him when he belligerently kept repeating that he didn’t talk about his life without Sideswipe. 

They way Sideswipe smiled as he looked down at Sunstreaker’s spark like it was the most beautiful spark in existence, indicated the injury to Sunstreaker’s spark occurred before they met.

“Do you know the cause of your spark pain now?”

“Yes.”

Energon shot through Ratchet’s lines faster as his fuel pump raced, activating systems on his HUD, he scanned the mech before him with his visual scanners, “Can you describe the symptoms, Sunstreaker if we pool our knowledge perhaps we could -“

“There is _nothing_ that can be done!” An irritated rev of Sunstreaker’s engine shot through the otherwise amicable silence of the brig, and his voice went hard as he all but growled, “My spark hurts because it’s damaged. And I did the damage to myself. Now I have reported it to you. I don’t talk about my life without Sideswipe.”

Mouth closing with an audible snap, Ratchet dropped the topic. It made a strange sense that a spark specialist might experiment on his own spark, that _Sunstreaker_ had done whatever it was to his spark to cause its odd, unbalanced rotation.

Wheeljack was often one to test his own inventions on himself despite Ratchet’s repeated protests.

Wondering if he had some how managed to reach Sunstreaker to build trust, he skirted around the issue Rung had raised about simply asking Sideswipe and Sunstreaker if they were conjunx endura.

A discrepancy on their medical history files provided his opening.

"Sideswipe designated you to make medical decisions for him if incapacitated, you...put down my name Sunstreaker.” Ratchet raised an optical ridge, “Why?" 

Staring at Sunstreaker in the brig, trails of processed energon drying on his normally immaculate plating, Sunstreaker stared back until finally some tension dropped from his frame.

Crossing his arms in front of himself, he grumbled out his answer with a completely straight face, "You have met Sideswipe. His ideas in a medical situation would kill me. At least fifty percent of his ideas end in explosions or fire,” then there was a slight tug at the corner of his mouth, “but at this point I have simply stopped keeping track.” 

Ratchet’s own mouth twitched upright, and his field pulsed in his amusement.

“Besides, you appear -” Sunstreaker narrowed his optics and looked Ratchet from helm to pede, and reluctantly uttered, “competent.”

Unable to help himself, Ratchet huffed as he input the override on the cell’s bars while he suppressed a grin. 

If that wasn’t the attitude of a medic, he didn’t know what was, “Get your aft to the Medbay, if you’re lucky, I won’t have to remove your plating to reattach it myself.”

With only a slight hesitation, Sunstreaker’s arms dropped to his sides, and the mech exited the cell; looming over Ratchet as he stared down at him. 

“I could do an acceptable reconstruction of plating circuitry with half of my cortex in recharge. You won’t have to remove it.” 

Then the golden mech stomped down the center hallway leading to the exit of the brig, and didn’t bother to turn to Ratchet as he finished, “but you can examine my work. Perhaps you can use it as a lesson for First Aid.”

Rolling his optics, Ratchet followed after him, bracing himself for Prowl's objections that were surely to come over comms.

“For the love of Optimus,” Ratchet muttered out his custom curse to himself, “I’m going to need an expansion to my Medbay to contain that ego.”

Fragging spark specialists, Pharma had demanded his own entire wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rung you come so close! Oh Ratchet you are in for a surprise about your assumptions.
> 
> Ratchet doesn't curse Primus, he prefers to curse someone tangible he believes in that he can actually yell at. Plus it makes Optimus snort behind datapads when he does it during meetings.
> 
> After this chapter I decided I need more drunken science geeking in my life.
> 
> Next chapter you get Sideswipe and Sunstreaker talking through some things. Sunstreaker at this point has their bond all but shut, and you'll learn then Sunstreaker's perception of events. 
> 
> And Prowl...still has his last gambit to play.
> 
> Soon I skitter off to China for the rest of the month. So if you leave a comment and I don't get back to you, that's why. I won't be updating again until August. Which is either awesome for you because there will be a backlog, or I'm just going to spend the time closing loop holes and background world building, or maybe *gasp* enjoy my vacation.


	25. Liars and Thieves

The sound of scraping plating reached Smokescreen through his pleasant buzz of overcharged systems. 

Laying on his back with his sensor panels spread out behind him, he resolved to ignore it, still basking in the lingering feeling of his earlier charge laden overloads shooting through his circuits. A corner of Smokescreen’s mouth tugged up as each circuit still tingled.

Sideswipe was…something else.

The red ex-gladiator was enthusiastic in his fragging. The way Sideswipe had twisted, pulled, and dragged Smokescreen’s EM field while teasing and exploring through every seam with glossa and digits both -

With his arms resting beneath his helm on his berth in the barracks, Smokescreen’s plating circuitry felt like goo, fully relaxed from his frame. Smokescreen had never had anyone twist and manipulate his field to overload before.

He hadn’t even known that was possible, but fraggit, the feeling was indescribably _new_ and he couldn’t wait to do it again.

Based on the scraping of plating nearby, someone else it seemed was having a good time, but without the courtesy to take their activities elsewhere. It happened in the barracks on occasion, and with the hi-grade flowing tonight it was no surprise if two or more ‘Bots had stumbled into each others berths.

For a moment he considered making a bet with himself who might be grinning or avoiding each other’s optics in the morning. But the pleasant floating feeling in his limbs was too good and he’d much rather go back to drifting, revisiting his memory files of tangled limbs, giggles and moans until he drifted off into recharge.

Entering his systems on his HUD, he went to deactivate his audials without rising to full consciousness, when low hushed whispers cut through the room from the stacked berths beside his own.

One whining.

“Ow. Fraggit, _Sunny_.”

One grumbling.

“Well what did you expect when you shoved yourself down there.”

“I thought I could just wiggle a bit and surprise you.”

The sound of scraping plating increased and now the repetitive creak of a berth cut through the silence of the barracks as the whispers rose in pitch. Smokescreen’s spark started to coil and race as the scraping sound of the base of the berth dragging across the floor became more frenzied.

“Would you stop your incessant wiggling!” 

“I’m close, I can feel it. I just need to -” A grunt. “Get…all my digits -“

“Reverse!” The command was hissed, “Don’t shove your arm any further up there - you’re going to make me -“

A crash of metal ricocheted off the walls of the barracks, and two groans echoed through the room.

Smokescreen onlined his optics just in time to see a flare of light illuminate the area to his right, and he stared up at the bottom of the berth on top of his own; paralyzed, while his fuel pump tried to escape through his front bumper.

Then hushing giggles of “Sunny did you just -“ 

“You overcharged idiot, close that.” A click of a plating being shut, and the barracks were cast into darkness again. “I bet your plating is a mess.”

More shuffling after the scolding -

“You could…clean me up? Maybe?” 

Smokescreen stopped venting at the tentative tone. It was as if he could no longer remember how as all his processes stalled.

There was a long silence and all Smokescreen could hear was his own overworking fuel pump as he tried his best to remain unnoticed.

He slowly, as silently as possible, pulled his plating tight to his frame. 

A huff, then a begrudging, “Fine.” 

Smokescreen’s fuel pump stopped.

Dead.

He was so dead.

The two ex-gladiators stood up and crept from the room as Smokescreen stared in dawning horror at the bottom of the bunk on top of his. Blue optics, dimly lighting up the face of Arcee appeared, hanging down over the side of the top berth toward Smokescreen beneath her.

“Did you just -“

“Yea.”

“You and Sideswipe were all over each other all night.”

“Yea.”

“I saw you lead him down the hall to a closet.”

An uncomfortable silence shot through the room, and Smokescreen realized everyone in the barracks were online and holding their ventilations. 

“You better pray to Primus those two mechs aren’t exclusive, or Sunstreaker’s not the jealous type.” Pipes’ voice called out.

Groaning, Smokescreen buried his head under his pillow.

Cut. Sliced. 

Chopped into a million bits and pieces only to be scattered about the barracks.

Or a closet. 

They would never find his remains. 

Smokescreen was so fragging dead.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

The intensity of Sunstreaker’s scowl at Sideswipe along their bond, caused Sideswipe to fidget and twitch his pedes as Sunstreaker moved around him.

“I thought I could fit.” Sheepishly, Sideswipe rubbed at the back of his neckplating from his place on the floor where Sunstreaker had parked him. Casually walking to the washracks to seal themselves in to talk had turned into Sunny scowling harder as Sideswipe swayed on his pedes.

Excess charge from all the hi-grade he had consumed still lingered in his systems and more than once Sideswipe had to lean on the wall to regain his balance.

All he got along their bond, then and now, was more scowling. 

Taking the polishing cloth off his optics and leaning up on his elbow joints the room about him spun as he offered a little smile toward his Sunny, “It’s not that bad is it?”

Sunstreaker wouldn’t so much as look at Sideswipe’s face to see the smile, he was locked up so tight.

“You scratched your plating to slag.” A servo reached out and shoved Sideswipe’s head back down to the floor, but the polishing cloth was placed gently over his optics again. 

“You know me.” Sideswipe shrugged as it felt like the floor was spinning underneath him, “Always getting stuck places I think I can fit.”

There was no response to his playful pings. A fine laser, wielded under Sunny’s meticulous guidance, worked its way along a particularly long scratch mark across Sideswipe’s chestplate. Microns of plating material zapped off along with his paint that Sunny then buffed even. 

‘Zapped off’ was Sideswipe’s term he had decided on when Sunny had gone on and on about proper maintenance, laying out all his tools in perfect lines to show off when they first started their life together. The little tentative pings of excitement to share their use with Sideswipe had kept Sideswipe from rolling his optics. And honestly, Sunny hadn’t stopped poking Sideswipe about maintenance since, but after their spelunking expedition in the Acid Wastes, Sunny’s laser scalpel had stopped working, and energy resources spent on appearances became less and less important. 

His Sunny’s fussing over Sideswipe never stopped though. 

As a guideline, based off vorns of experience, a Sunny that was fussing, scowling, and locked up was infinity times ten better than one that was locked up, pulling away, and going still.

Sideswipe tried hard to lay still on the floor and let his Sunny fuss, but the room continued to spin.

“I’m spinny.” He giggled.

There was a pause, then the scowl retreated a bit.

“I’m not calling you that.”

“What?” Oh. Frag. He forgot to - “Not a nickname. I’m spinny. As in my head is spinning, or the room is, or…I don’t actually know why, but hi-grade always makes me feel really good then I get spinny.“

The intensity of the scowling returned stronger, boiling and bubbling with frustration.

Constant movement of any part of Sideswipe’s frame halted, and parked still under the force of that scowl along their bond. As Sunny worked, the scowling lessoned and Sideswipe’s fidgeting was replaced by simply _feeling_ as Sunny mapped down his arms over every spare bit of plating. Soft digits drifting and dipping into in every seam, in order to content himself that Sideswipe hadn’t damaged anything beyond his newly fixed dislocated digit.

Normally, Sideswipe would bask under the meticulous, single focused attention his Sunny always doted on him after an injury.

But this felt different. 

Some little scraplet was gnawing away at something in his Sunny’s cortex in a loop, and Sunny wasn’t talking. 

After a few more moments of silence with only scowling emanating from Sunstreaker along their bond, Sideswipe tried again.

“I wanted to check on you, you weren’t answering my pings.” He sent a tentative pulse and pattern through their bond only to wilt a fraction when Sunny didn’t respond, just continued to work on inspecting every inch of Sideswipe’s frame for damage and repair it. 

Sideswipe flared out and jabbed his irritation through his field. Not that Sunstreaker could tell.

As his Sunny’s meticulous focus worked further down his frame, Sideswipe couldn’t stop himself from squirming as Sunstreaker’s servos spread his legs apart to attack the scratches between them there. 

The servos on his thigh plating paused and the constant stream of scowls shut off, chilling the bond in their absence as Sunny went completely still.

“You cuddled Smokescreen.” Sideswipe’s spark sank at Sunny’s simple statement.

Sunny knew the signs, even after Sideswipe had stumbled his overcharged self into the washracks to clean up before returning to the barracks, with Sunstreaker no where to be seen, and blacking out on his bunk. The Pit patrons weren’t the only mechs Sideswipe would go off and “cuddle” in the Pits, and later the Decepticons. 

Neutrals too. 

Sideswipe couldn’t help himself. 

If he couldn’t be merging with Sunny, he fragging loved losing himself in fragging. Fields twisting and dancing against the ache in his spark as he tweaked them every which way, hot charge and fluid rushing through his systems. He could disappear completely in the hot vents gusting against his frame and tingling rush of pleasure from helm to pede. Fill and be filled under unwavering attention. So many partners, groups, and friends eager to follow Sideswipe’s narrative he spun them. 

He was one of them. Wanted, accepted and belonged in the crowd for _him_ and his frame, not his special spark he never bared. Stroked and worshipped in all sorts of fun positions among writhing frames. Glossas, servos, digits, valves, spikes, and toys; he’d try most anything at least once. Almost reaching a height of bliss with each overload, chasing away the pain and constant craving need in his spark if only for a night then recharging tangled among them.

Fragging was a game of chasing after a rush through his frame and Sideswipe had almost always won the acceptance of others once he had guessed at the rules when he played.

Megatron though, had always turned down Sideswipe’s advances and attempts to draw his optics and skeevy field away from Sunny.

“Yea Sunny, I cuddled Smokescreen.” Sideswipe pushed up the edge of the polishing cloth over his optics as he lifted himself up partially to look down at Sunstreaker staring at his thigh plate, “We could have danced together outside our sparks, but you didn’t want to join the fun.”

“And Smokescreen has a field.” The bitterness Sunny felt seeped through into the force of his scowl as Sideswipe's attempts to reassure him along their bond were batted away, “I can still smell the ozone from whatever it is you do with your fields lingering from your systems.”

The laser clicked back on and Sideswipe stared at Sunstreaker’s tense form, removing the faint paint transfers that Sideswipe in his overcharged state had missed.

The room spun and Sideswipe swayed, attempting to focus through the excess charge running through his cortex to smooth over Sunny’s ruffled plating. “We’re still sometimes cuddle friends…I think…I’m pretty sure that’s something Pit pals -”

“Did you fragging interface with him too.”

For once, it was Sideswipe who went still along their bond at the serious words lacking any proper inflection. Words, accompanying a bitter pulse along their bond as Sideswipe replayed in his cortex. Reality blurred as a light purple servo cupped against the side of his Sunny’s youngling silver face, turning him away while Sideswipe was strapped -

The monster of his nightmares. 

Large purple frame guiding Sunny away no matter how hard Sideswipe yelled or attacked with his field. New, larger, silver servo holding the side of his Sunny’s face in his adult frame. Purple and silver touching gold and Sunny liking -

His own black servo shot out to replace the ghost he feared. Fuel pump racing as if to burn through the lingering overcharge in his system, Sideswipe tilted his Sunny’s chin up to meet his optics, peering down at him as his field flared in panic. 

“Where did you hear that?” He kept his tone even and his side of the bond as still as he could, but Sunny would have felt the scratch of Sideswipe’s replay. 

“Ratchet.”

“When he did my repairs?” Sideswipe’s field thrashed, roared, and shot out at nothing. Promising retribution. Pain. He’d peel off plating piece by piece and - 

“No, tonight. In the Medbay when he gave me a lesson on -”

He could feel his own scratching shriek across their bond as Sideswipe scrambled to his knees. Blowing their bond wide open, he snapped his digits in front of his Sunny’s optics and kept touching the sides of his face for a response.

//No no no no no no no -//

The feeling, the sight, the _smell_ of Sideswipe’s Sunny, slumped against a wall in a dark corner in the Pits, optics vacant, regurgitated energon down his front, bond numb and unresponsive. There was no life. He had thought Sunny was adapting, getting better. No life along the bond. No field Sideswipe could -

“Frag off.” Sunstreaker smacked his servo out of the way, and pulled his side of the bond down tight as he stood up and stormed across the washracks while rubbing his chestplate. “I didn’t take any sedatives. And stop trying to entice me to sync, it fragging hurts to deny you.”

His helm turned away from Sideswipe, but Sideswipe was up and scrambling after him. He stumbled once but he didn’t care, he kept going until he reached his Sunny. Cupping the side of his face and guiding it back so he could stare into Sunny’s optics and see light there as he clung desperately to their bond while the room spun around them.

Life.

Sunny didn’t melt and press against his servo like he should, that scraplet still gnawing away in his weirdo’s cortex and Sideswipe _needed_ to push for this. 

“If you didn’t go for sedatives, then why did you go to _that_ place. Out of any place in Iacon, why did you have to go there?” The most-likely answer burned a fury in Sideswipe’s spark and Sunny knew it. His Sunny was entirely too comfortable in that Medbay lab of horrors and it fragged Sideswipe off.

“Because Ratchet invited me, and you left me alone in a room full of overcharged Autobots.” Sunstreaker snarled, lashing out and Sideswipe yelped along their bond as he recoiled from the force of Sunny’s frustration released in a deluge all at once. 

Freezing silent, the deluge of frustration abruptly shut off, as if Sunny could be unnoticed along their bond like all those vorns ago when Sideswipe had first learned how to flick and poke at his spark. Sunstreaker stood before him, plating pulled tight and refusing to look at Sideswipe’s optics, with barely a whisper of his presence along their bond. 

//I’m sorry Sunny. I just wasn’t prepared for you to be so loud. Don’t go still.// Frantic little pings chased after him with no response, as Sideswipe kept touching his face, the warmth of his frame under his digits assuring him that Sunny was very much still full of life.

After a silent eternity in Sideswipe’s spark with continuous effort on his part, Sunny pinged their bond softly with tentative uncertainty, and that fragging feeling of abject failure seeped out of him as he muttered, “I don’t know why Ratchet invited me. He always seems so angry with me.“

Sideswipe narrowed his optics and sent his promise of possessive retribution over their bond, //Did he poke your spark? Shove his spark in yours?//

“No. He checked over some of my welds and circuitry reconnection techniques, huffed, then gave me a lesson on -”

//He gave you _lessons_ on interfacing?// The EM field around Sideswipe became a veritable storm as he focused on not clenching his servos into fists and keeping his side of the bond focused with his anxiety and not spitting acid.

“He didn’t.” Sunstreaker’s jaw tightened, “I extrapolated.” 

Sideswipe’s spark stopped as he probed further along their bond.

“What do you mean he didn’t? You just said -” Sideswipe followed Sunny’s gaze as he looked down at Sideswipe’s half polished plating. 

“I know you explained your cuddle marks from others.” His Sunny’s servo reached out toward his chestplate, hovered over the Autobot insignia then clenched into a fist. “It’s because you need…“

The servo withdrew all-together and Sideswipe snapped his optics up toward Sunstreaker to see him curling further in on himself.

“Field stuff.” Sideswipe finished for him, and stroked his thumb down the side of Sunny’s face, “But you are still be best cuddler Sunny. My favourite. No fields can compare to you glooming and dooming and snarking out laughter with me in my spark you know that. What did you extrapolwhatis from Ratchet? This is important Sunny, you are locking yourself up from me.”

He tilted Sunny’s face back up toward him and gave him a reassuring smile while his field promised untold pain toward the Autobot CMO for ruining this. All Sideswipe’s careful lies of omission and half-truths crumbling before him, because Autobots couldn’t keep their fragging mouths shut and their sciency servos out of his Sunny’s cortex. 

Sunny looked away and stared down at Sideswipe’s plating as he answered.

“He asked me why I isolated the viruses in my system so aggressively, and I told him I got them from you. He said they were simple interface viruses, and that you have to be more careful when you interface with others but I…I don’t understand Sideswipe.” Sunny pulled Sideswipe’s servo from the side of his face, turned it over and drifted a digit reverently over Sideswipe’s medical port and looked up to meet Sideswipe’s optics. “Do you not prefer me to be the one who interfaces with you to check your function for glitches?”

Despite his Sunny’s reversion to talking like how Shockwave raised him, Sideswipe’s field finally relaxed in relief as he swayed on his pedes. 

Sunny didn’t know. 

Letting Sunny continue to cradle his wrist lightly in his grasp, Sideswipe guided his Sunny’s forehelm to his own. “Of course I prefer you. You are my Sunny and I won’t let anyone take you from me. I promise you will never be rid of me oozing my silly emotions all over your spark.”

//You left me alone at the party.//

“I know. But there was hi-grade, I was working the room, making friends, and -“

“I don’t want it to be like in Kaon.” 

In a single riff, Sideswipe’s spark skipped a beat with the smell of dried regurgitated energon wafting through his cortex before it raced to catch up to Sunny’s.

“It won’t go back to like Kaon. You aren’t alone in this. Ever.” Sideswipe pulsed his ironclad promise over their bond. “I slipped up okay? The Autobots tripped me up a bit but I’ve found my foundation with them. The Medbay, then the little orangey red shrinkie-dink asking you all those questions, I was stressed. Then we did the sim and you were amazing, our _teamwork_ was amazing, Prowl’s got to be impressed. We got our face thingies on the spot and I -“ Sunny finally, _finally_ started to press back against his touch and reopen his half of their bond. “I’m sorry. No more hi-grade. No more dancing outside our sparks.” 

And faster than Sideswipe could process, Sunny locked up, snarled and pulled away. 

Sideswipe stood stunned as Sunny revved his engine then paced back and forth through the washracks. Flaring his armor then pulling it tight, triggering his blade then retracting it. He hadn’t seen Sunny this agitated since -

“You’re not recharging are you.” Darting out into his path almost got him a blade through his arm when he tried to place a servo on Sunny’s chestplate he was wound so tight. “You’re running your mods and fractioning off your cortex to recharge in shifts again aren’t you.”

Sideswipe didn’t need the bond to know he was right, Sunstreaker turning his optics away, all his systems going suddenly silent and still, was all the confirmation he needed.

“Sunny, you’re exhausted.” Sideswipe reached out and stroked the side of his face again, his other thumb stroking above Sunny’s optic ridges. “How many projects are you running up there hey? How many what-iffies that are never going to happen are you spinning out solutions for in a loop?”

“I’m not _glitching_.” Sunny snarled as he pulled away and continued to pace. His focus targeted in on Sideswipe’s scuffed plating after his third stomping circuit, “I just fixed your plating. Now look at it!”

Knocking away Sunny’s attempt to park him back down and take out whatever was irritating him on the scratches on Sideswipe’s plating, Sideswipe’s optics narrowed as he pulsed his suspicion over their bond.

“Is this about making friends? Or me cuddling for field stuff?” Reaching out to touch Sunny caused him to dodge and Sideswipe pulsed assurances over their bond, “Sunny we just got here, and you made a great team with Bluestreak. We still have your lucky door wingie project to start, and a study of Wheeljack’s helm horns, and we’ll meet our unit for the frontlines and everything’s going to be -“

“I want to be able to have a conversation with someone other than you or Cre-“ He cut himself off, but Sideswipe knew exactly who he was going to say, “I want to know when other mechs are joking so I can laugh too. But they’re just afraid of me, or worse. They laugh at me and my mobility routine because I-”

“Who said something about your mobility routine?” Sideswipe interrupted. “Everyone always loves -”

“Mirage and Hound say my mobility routine is a dance. I thought they were mocking me but they showed me a hologram and I -”

“That’s stupid, you check your joints and function. We’ve spent joors together making up new routines. I know dancing. I use to dance with my carrier, I danced all the time in the Pits. What you use to do with your slagging pede pointies isn’t _dancing_.”

“They aren’t called pede pointies.”

//Why the frag would that monster teach you to dance for him like _that_? What else did he do to you where I couldn’t see?//

//Nothing. He never hurt me. It’s not his fault! The senate -//

//Frag the senate. I didn’t see them holding his servo and strapping my neighbours down on fragging tables. I thought those were berths because that’s all I fragging had in my room so frag Shockwave and his fragging experiments. He did that! Not the so called _senate_.// Under the force of Sideswipe’s acid spewing across their bond, Sunstreaker went completely silent and still, not even a flinch like Sideswipe’s opponents in the ring when he lashed out with his field in all directions.

The thought, the _sight_ of anyone other than Sideswipe touching his Sunny curdled his fuel tank and set his field flaring as his spark raged. The thought of Sunny _dancing_ while slag sucking Shockwave watched with his creepy…

…Sideswipe had never gotten the chance to dance with Sunny in the…

Sideswipe’s engine roared as he pressed his helm against his Sunny’s and stared deep into his optics while demanding all his attention along their bond, //It’s not going to go back to what it was like in Kaon! I won’t allow it. You are my Sunny. Mine. As I am your special idiot spark. And I will keep repeating that to you until we can chase away all those worries you cycle in that beautiful helm of yours and learn to see yourself as I see you. Your spark is the most beautiful spark that could ever be.//

Stroking his servo down the side of Sunny’s face he gave him the smile he kept only for his Sunny while pinging their bond with conviction.

//If you were ever taken from me, I would burn all of Cybertron to ashes looking for my Sunny.//

Sideswipe’s cooling fans clicked on and whirred to life in time with Sunny’s, both their systems straining to resist the urge to merge right here, right now, fully and completely lost in bliss consequences be damned. They’d be one. Their aching need for each other from whatever Shockwave had done to Sideswipe’s special spark, causing it to latch onto Sunstreaker’s and form a connection, spinning together fulfilled and harmonious as they became one.

As they became something _else_.

Two frames acting and coordinating as one.

Together. They had always been unstoppable.

And since Kaon, Sideswipe had gotten a taste for what it was like to have Sunny always at his side, he was _never_ letting him drift away.

Sunny was his, and their bond sang with Sideswipe’s possession and praise of him as Sunny’s legs quivered under the force. Optics locked, and ventilations straining, a soft verse and gasp of pleasure shot through their bond toward Sideswipe until he too was trembling as the washracks on Cybertron spun around them, twisting and contorting into what _they_ would shape it into. 

Before he knew it, Sunny was on the floor beneath him with his chestplate splitting open in time with Sideswipe’s and both of them stared entranced. Tendrils erupted from the surface of their sparks, reaching and aching to escape their casings. 

Sideswipe moaned and smiled as those tendrils mingled, unlocking his casing and leaning forward only to have Sunny’s servos to shoot out and stop him.

“We _can’t_.”

A possessive flare of Sideswipe’s field tried to pull Sunny’s from his spark along with their bond, only to shoot through his frame and grasp on nothing, and he whined while his field shot everywhere aching to find life.

Somehow Sunstreaker always found the strength in himself to close his own chestplate, while he tore his starving optics away from Sideswipe’s spark and their optics locked again.

“What about your rust-slugs.” 

The question was so unexpected, Sideswipe was able to refocus and close his chestplate as he tilted his head and pinged his confusion, “My rust-slugs?”

Sunny’s mouth finally tilted up on the left side, the precious true smile he kept only for Sideswipe as Sunny’s adoration pulsed in response through their bond.

“If you burned Cybertron to ash, you would kill your rust-slugs.”

“ _Our_ rust-slugs.” Sideswipe corrected, “They’d survive,” A mischievous smile took the place of the other and he drifted down his digits toward Sunny’s shoulder seams, savoring how Sunny melted at his touch over their bond, “They’d dig deep and hide.”

And he launched his attack. 

Sunny put up a good defense, cursing and wiggling out from under him, though Sunny would venimenytly deny that he wiggled but he totally did. As he scrambled to standing, Sideswipe grabbed his pede and pulled him crashing to the floor and pounced on his back, to whisper the story in his audial. “They’d save their strength then come roaring out to reclaim their world.”

Attacking Sunny’s side seams earned Sideswipe one of Sunny’s adorable snorts as their bond echoed with Sunny’s laughter, and Sideswipe redoubled his efforts for a second snort as Sunny escaped him again with a combat maneuver, tossing him flat on his aft.

The washracks spun as he worked to regain his balance, overcharge still lingering in Sideswipe’s systems, but Sunny was smiling at him over their bond and revving in challenge. There was no true defense to one of Sideswipe’s tickle attacks, no pattern or reason that Sunny could ever predict. All Sunny’s seams were fair play, he was ticklish every place Sideswipe ever tried.

With a revving challenge of his own, Sideswipe launched.

In the end they lay exhausted. Helms next to each other with their pedes pointing to opposite ends of the room. Sunny with his servos folded over his chest, and Sideswipe with his limbs in all directions, and solvent from the washracks they broke spewing out all around them.

Staring up at the ceiling, Sideswipe continued his story of their lives.

"I think I could unload my entire subspace at one and it’d keep coming. Fraggers are tough, Sunny. And so are the mechs who tame them.”

Sunstreaker scoffed, “Eighteen attempts and all we managed to do was frag it off so much it chased us all the way to the Acid Wastes.”

“But we _tried_.” Shuffling closer Sideswipe rested his helm on Sunny’s shoulder and Sunny lifted his to do the same, “That’s when magic happens. In the attempt.”

Locked in opposing positions, Sideswipe just had to tilt his head to his side to see Sunny’s slight frown on his upside-down head resting on Sideswipe’s shoulder. That was okay. They were still working on Sunny’s understanding of Sideswipe’s illogical logic of magic.

They laid there in the spray, ventillations syncing and simply basking in each other’s presence, Sideswipe still enthralled with the lack of red blinking lights on his HUD.

They had made it into the Autobots. Sideswipe pulsed his pride and praise along their bond and his Sunny basked in it.

And they were still together. That’s all that mattered.

Letting his processes wander free, Sideswipe crossed one leg so he could bounce his pede as he explore through his cortex and their memories. The ceiling above him dripping in glittering solvent became stars and a wide smile stretched his face as he broke the silence between them.

“Remember the time we found that spaceship in Staniz?”

“The death trap.”

Sideswipe chuckled outloud and along their bond at Sunny’s joke, and nuzzled his chin against Sunny’s. “We got it airborne though.”

“Until the dilithium crystals fluxed and fractured, sending the port thruster in the wrong directions.”

Stretching his arms back over his head, Sideswipe stared up at the bubbles on the ceiling again, “Yea, I think that was our biggest explosion yet.”

“It tore half of the haul to shreds! We went more horizontal than vertical, and left a smoking gouge in the ground farther than either of us could see!”

“That’s what I mean Sunny,” Sideswipe pulsed and pinged their bond with awe, “Cybertron is more amazing that I ever imagined. For five breems -”

“2.65 terrifying breems of screaming at each other, and you pushing every button that flashed -”

Sideswipe waved his servo in the air, as he dismissed Sunny’s perspective of events from their bond, “Psh, minor details. Where was I? Oh right. For five breems Sunny, we were captains of a spaceship. Imagine. A real live spaceship, and some idiot just left that treasure laying around without seeing the potential.”

“They probably saw the potential for it to rip itself in half and explode.”

“Again. Minor details.” 

And they were, because the best part had been working together to patch up parts of it. It had been their home for a vorn and a half. And for a moment during lift off, Sunstreaker had flashed Sideswipe his favourite smile as Sideswipe told him all the adventures they would have when they reached Luna 2.

All of Sunny’s anxiety and worries had fled, their sparks had synced, and as one they reached out to press the final button without thought under the force of their joy.

They would be leaving slag sucking Shockwave behind in -

Sudden inspiration struck.

"Hey Sunny?"

A confirming ping was sent along their bond, so Sideswipe continued, "Do you think we could get shrinkie components like Rung installed and take his ships to space?"

At least twenty spark rotations past before Sideswipe’s Sunny answered.

“…do you want me to get you Rung’s shrinkie component and install it? Just Because?”

A smile tugged at Sideswipe’s mouth as he pinged a negative in their sparks.

“That’s a nice thought Sunny but no.” Walking his pedes on the floor, Sideswipe slid his backplate on the foaming solvent so he was beside his Sunny, rolled onto his front and rested his chin on his chestplate. “There is only one shrinkie component and I could never leave my Sunny behind as I went on an adventure.”

“Even for a spaceship?”

“Even for a spaceship.”

Crisis averted. Sunny had dropped the topic of interfacing. Guilt ate at Sideswipe, but he burned it away in his field so Sunstreaker couldn’t feel it, and he clung tight to his half-truths and lies of omission as he desperately tried to make the world between them reality. Every time Sideswipe had opened his mouth to try to explain interfacing and fragging to Sunny, his spark would scream how much his Sunny had loved to be touched by slag sucking Shockwave- he might want to try it with other mechs, and they’d realize Sunny didn’t have a field. 

That’s what Sideswipe told himself anyway as he ignored the curdling of his fuel tank and fury in his spark at the thought of anyone else but him touching his Sunny.

“You are certain you still prefer me…” Frag, some of Sideswipe’s guilt or fury about the one optic, purple monster must have made it through, Sunny was retreating. “Even though I don’t have a -“

“You are still the best cuddler that could ever be Sunny.” Possession rang again through their bond and he felt Sunstreaker relax, “I promise. I’m not lying about that.”

Sunny nuzzled against Sideswipe’s servo, shyly laughing along their bond as he flicked cleanser bubbles off Sideswipe’s audial horn.

That felt right. 

“That’s because you’re a horrible liar.” Sunstreaker muttered at he rested his forehelm against Sideswipe’s.

“Only to you Sunny.” Sideswipe murmured as he stroked gently down the side of his face, and Sunstreaker melted into his touch. “Only to you.”

Sunstreaker initiated his own ping pattern to Sideswipe, and Sideswipe got it right on the first try, Sunstreaker had made it easy. 

“So…” Sideswipe trailed off as he looked at his half painted plating, “I think next time I try to slip down from the top bunk onto your berth to check on you, I should -“

“Not try to wedge yourself between the berth and the wall.” Sunstreaker’s left corner of his mouth lifted as he plopped more bubbles on Sideswipe’s head.

And Sideswipe spun, leapt and darted through Sunny’s snickers in their bond.

That, was an Operation Giggle’s success.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

Sunstreaker lay on the floor of the washracks, surrounded by Sideswipe’s mayhem.

And maybe a little bit of his own.

After all, he _had_ been the first one to grab a washrack hose and use the cleanser as a defense strategy against one of Sideswipe’s illogical tickle ambushes…and he might have been the first one to end up pulling the hose out of the wall. He had stood frozen, flexible metal tubing in his servo, fear of being placed in one of the Autobot’s isolation cells Ratchet had explained to him pumping through his systems, when Sideswipe pulled one out of the wall too and waves of laughter filled his spark.

Foaming cleanser dripped from the ceiling and swirled across the floor.

Sideswipe’s sigh of contentment echoed through their bond as they talked about spaceships and his special spark rested his chin on Sunstreaker’s chestplate. As they lay there, Sunstreaker tried not to think how he had hurt Sideswipe when he let all his frustration abruptly through their bond, and he tried not to think of the cuddle-friend marks or Sideswipe’s need for ‘field-stuff’ Sunstreaker had no hope of ever understanding.

Trying not to think about a topic never worked well for Sunstreaker.

He couldn’t help but convince himself that he was being pushed back into the edges and orbit of Sideswipe’s life again. 

And after all their travels together since Kaon, it hurt. 

Pit pals. 

Sideswipe had picked up that new term as soon as it was out of Jazz's vocalizer, twisted it and used it seamlessly to fit in without needing it defined. Though Pit pals was better than how fast Sunstreaker had shunted his terror when Sideswipe had announced that Red Alert was his long lost twin. 

One of their few conversations involving Carrier had ended with both of them spitting acid along their bond to each other, and they had come close to it again tonight.

 _Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are special split-spark twins_

Sideswipe had started the story his control monitor had told him as they worked on inventing the stories of their lives while they were still younglings, living in the filth and shadows of Kaon. Sideswipe had chatted to shop owners, made friends even then, as Sunstreaker loomed silently and unseen in the shadows, gathering supplies from behind. 

"We're not." 

It was the first time Sunstreaker had ever talked back to Sideswipe, breaking his narrative. His spark had been racing in terror that he diverted down the tattered remnants of his original purpose. Sideswipe had jolted under the intensity of Sunstreaker acid ping of correction he sent over their bond. Then had reset his optics at Sunstreaker and tilted his head.

"But that's how Carrier's story goes." He had insisted as he held up his illogical snarls of wire made of the internals of experimental subjects. 

And the newly named Sunstreaker had panicked, files he had read as Creation clashing in his cortex, causing him to lash out. 

"I was made by Creator!” Sunstreaker had spat. "He told me so." 

A sharp screeching ping had shot down their bond in response. 

"Don't call that monster that."

//Shockwave is my creator.// Sunstreaker had enforced. //If we're twins logic dictates that Shockwave is your Creator too.//

“I came from Carrier's spark!” Sideswipe had screamed, enraged as he stomped around the Acceptably still Sunstreaker.

Then they had started spewing fury at each other through their bond and Creation had almost ruined everything between them as he tried to get Bitlet to understand.

//I know. I read your experiment file. You are an experimental spark I was suppose to use to fulfill my purpose.//

//Frag your purpose, my spark is _special_. You're mine now.//

//I belong to Creator. I'm an other!//

//Stop calling him that! I don't like it.//

//It is the truth. Creator would not lie to me. He wanted to care for me and lying to me is illogical.//

//Stop talking like him!//

// _Shockwave_ , my Creator, is a genius. There is nothing he can not prove or disprove. I want to be just like him.//

//Shockwave is a monster! He strapped me to a lab table and poked at my special spark while my neighbour's fields of terror and pain surrounded me, but you wouldn't know that because you don't have one! Logically, what does that make _you_?//

Sideswipe screamed and lashed out as he got tossed into an emotional and visual _replay_ of his experience as a subject in Shockwave's lab for the first time, shrieking and scratching along their bond, while Sunstreaker panicked at the magnitude of his error and took off as he became trapped in his glitch. 

Three cycles later, Sideswipe came to find him on the outskirts of the city. It was as far as Sunstreaker had made it to going home in an attempt to correct his error before his glitch overwhelmed him. Sunstreaker had stood immaculately in a corner, optics cycling, locked up with his processor cycling on loop as he kept reaching for cold logic to break him from his glitch. 

It had been decided then between them that in the stories of their lives, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were not twins. 

They couldn't be. 

Bitlet had come from Carrier's spark. 

And Creation was created by Shockwave in his image for a purpose. 

What Sunstreaker had never mentioned to Sideswipe was that 253a had once been two split-sparks. 

The file stated Sideswipe had been generated by their syncing songs played and synthesized to them in discord. The defective one was shunted off, with no further file and Creation had extrapolated that to mean to be split down and separated in numerous other spark experiments.

Breaking into that file of Bitlet’s origins was how Creation had figured out that he needed to propose a spark merge with his Creator, lure Bitlet into sync and hold him there, so Shockwave could study the simulated spark bond Creation had formed with Bitlet's special spark. Creation had always been excellent at patterns, and he found the right way to twist to fit into sync with Bitlet’s spark.

Sunstreaker was determine that Sideswipe never learn: Creation was the abomination that stole 253c’s place. 

The logic bringing Sunstreaker to that conclusion was impeccable. 

Because there was an absolute that formed the keystone of its foundation: Creation wasn't an experiment.

He had never lived with them. 

He had always been an _other_. 

He was special to his Creator. 

Therefore he wasn’t an experiment.

He wasn’t.

Further evidence manifested to support his conclusion when Sunstreaker’s spark outgrew his casing before Sideswipe’s. Sunstreaker had concluded from that evidence that he must be older than Sideswipe by at least a quarter of a vorn.

Fury seeped out of Sideswipe’s spark and Sunstreaker pulled away along their bond, thinking that Sideswipe had picked up on his thoughts.

And he had to check if he was being replaced, or if Sideswipe had remembered 253’s words when it announced plainly for Sideswipe to hear, precisely what Creation was.

_Abomination. Thief._

“You are certain you still prefer me…” Sunstreaker hesitated, any mention of a field a constant reminder that he was an _other_ and Sideswipe might make the logical connection that was so obvious to Sunstreaker, “even though I don’t have a -“

“Hey now, you are still the best cuddler that could ever be Sunny.” Possession rang through their bond and Sunstreaker relaxed in relief, “I promise. I’m not lying about that.”

Sunstreaker nuzzled against Sideswipe’s servo, staring into the optics of the special experimental spark he stole. Shyly laughing along their bond, he impulsively flicked soap bubbles off Sideswipe’s audial horn and Sideswipe beamed at him.

“That’s because you’re a horrible liar.” Sunstreaker muttered, shunting his own greedy deception away as he rested his forehelm against Sideswipe’s.

“Only to you Sunny.” Sideswipe murmured as he stroked gently down the side of his face, sending charge shooting through Sunstreaker’s system even now at the indulgence of touch, “Only to you.”

Guilt ate at Sunstreaker for what he had done, but he syphoned it away so Sideswipe couldn’t feel, and he clung tight to his special spark that he stole. 

Touch, had always been a rare gift from Creator.

His special spark was so free with sharing his emotions, praise, and touch, and Sunstreaker could never get enough.

Initiating a easy ping pattern between them let Sideswipe know Sunstreaker didn’t blame him for everything that happened this evening.

“So…” Sideswipe trailed off after he completed the first iteration, “I think next time I try to slip down from the top bunk onto your berth to check on you, I should -“ 

“Not try to wedge yourself between the berth and the wall.” Sunstreaker gave Sideswipe the smile he made and kept for him alone as he finally decided on what he wanted to draw for Rung as he impulsively put more bubbles on Sideswipe’s head.

Sideswipe’s emotions spinning, leaping, and darting through Sunstreaker’s laughter in their bond, was like applause for his illogical actions.

Applause equaled praise.

Praise equaled touch.

Touch therefore, equaled applause.

The logic was impeccable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully Sideswipe's POV reasonings for keeping interfacing from Sunstreaker are clear, albeit not without their consequences. He experiences intense visual or emotional flashbacks of seeing Shockwave touch Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker enjoy Shockwave's touch. 
> 
> Not all their intimacy is this calculated between them, they definitely get carried away a lot and have fun no matter how much Sunstreaker might deny it, but some of the more manipulative aspects highlighted in this chapter are there between them and underlying some of their interactions. 
> 
> And now...the plot is going to start pushing forward next chapter. Ratchet and Rung have worked to have Sunstreaker placed in the Medbay, and Prowl's still plotting his final gambit with Sideswipe under his command to get both of them placed under him.


	26. The Maze of Fact and Fiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a liar. This is a two parter, it got massive. A three day time skip, setting the scene with Jazz and Prowl having a discussion as slag and threads begin to hit the fan.

A glowing blue three dimensional model illuminated the faces of the seven assembled Autobots of the Ark command crew. The holographic schematic of the Ark hovered suspended between them in the center table of the War Room. 

With a slice downwards of a servo, the Autobot Head of Science separated off a cross-section, pulled outward and shunted it aside out of the table’s scope.

Another twist of his servo and Jazz watched, chin resting on the back of his chair, while hull plating exploded outward in a projected view. The network of hallways, decks, rooms and ventillation shafts Jazz had already memorized and navigated blind were exposed. 

Finished sections blinked green in a series, in-progress glowed red, and there was a spattering of pink throughout the spaceship of projected problems. The satellite transmitter they had been unable to find in the outskirts of Iacon, being one of them. Perceptor had been planning to use that to scramble the Decepticon controlled satellite network during launch.

Prowl’s proposed solution…would cost a lot of lives.

Jazz tried to remind himself that without the success of the Ark, they were all dead anyway. It would take hundreds of vorns, but they were past the point of no return and Optimus was determined to fight for a future. There was no replenishing the resources or undoing the damage the war had wrought across the surface of Cybertron.

The intensity of his visor increased as the veins of the Ark’s energy circuitry lit up in white.

Jazz tracked them all, like he was navigating a maze, twisting and doubling back to ensure the desired direction and destination of each thin glowing thread. There was a rhythm to how they flowed, and Jazz couldn’t explain how he did it but when he found an error leading to a wrong section, it was as clear to him as a sour note in a symphony. 

A subtle twitch of a sensor panel drew a fraction of Jazz’s focus away from Wheeljack’s long winded explanation on the completed segments and the status of construction on each deck and sector.

White and black sensor panels beside him were held high with a _slight_ flare, and Jazz added another mental notch to his tally.

That was the sixth twitch in the last ten breems. 

Good.

::I can't believe you are still simmering, I told you the outcome that first night.:: He picked at a weakness. It’s what Jazz did. Especially to Prowl. ::It’s unlike you Prowler, and in the middle of a meeting too.::

Slightly twitching his sensor panels, this time in irritation, Prowl snapped back across his private commline to Jazz, ::Some of us are capable of doing more than one task at once in a meeting. And I am _not_ simmering.::

No. Clearly Prowl was past the point of simmering. 

Staring down at the datapad Wheeljack had passed around on the Ark's final preparations, and typing notes on a second datapad of his own, Prowl kept his field controlled and his scowl off his face. A picture perfect example of a senior officer focused on the task before him.

Well with the multiple other tasks he was also simultaneously performing with that battle computer of his, Jazz was watching his levels closely.

The simmering fury at himself ever since little Blue’s near deactivation from seekers now boiled into a full on rage of frustration directed outward. Prowl had calculated a solution to something, and it had to do with impossible conjunx endurae from the Pits of Kaon most likely on the run from Decepticon scientists and their sick spark splitting experiments.

Jazz had been bracing for Prowl’s final desperate gambit against Ratchet and Rung championing Sunstreaker as a medic after he saw him smirk down toward Sideswipe at the end of the sim. 

To one of the two mechs that knew him best, it was obvious Prowl had come up with a plan. Blue had been distracted, but Prowl had been in surprisingly good spirits considering he had lost Sunstreaker’s placement - almost _pleased_ according to Mirage - to have escorted Sunstreaker to the brig later that cycle. 

Ratchet had come and released Sunstreaker, pulling his weight outside of the chain of command by citing a medical matter, and by mid afternoon the following cycle, Prowl’s mood began to turn foul.

On the surface it seemed as if Prowl was fragged off at the state their two new Autobots had left the washracks after a victory frag of epic proportions. Irritated to have to wait to assign them punishment detail together as Sideswipe ended up making a larger mess by slipping and sliding down the hall and cajoling Trailbreaker, Swerve, Bluestreak, Blaster and all his remaining cassettes to join. That apparently was Sideswipe’s idea of cleaning it up on punishment detail. Jazz had doubled over at the look on Prowl’s face when Optimus had a go, running and sliding on his pedes down the hallway covered in suds, then continuing calmly on to his destination as if he hadn’t just left stunned Autobots in his wake. 

Then Sideswipe had hooted and hollered everyone into cheers. Little work got done around the base as more and more Autobots took that as endorsement of permission and joined the scene

That wasn’t it though. 

Some solution was driving Prowl. A solution that orbited around having the Autobot’s new former gladiators under his command.

Unease had settled in Jazz’s spark and it was increasing with every cycle. Prowl had manipulated some variable. Pulled dubious strings to twist events and recalculated the odds in his favour.

Based on Jazz’s current count, Prowl had called Sideswipe into his office five times in the past three cycles. Each time Sideswipe left his new commander’s office, the fury boiling in the mech sitting next to Jazz now, seemed to only intensify.

Prowl was trying to manipulate Sideswipe somehow.

And he wasn’t use to it not going his way.

He was going to fracture denta if he kept clenching them so tight.

Fury was good though. That meant his battle computer was not above 80%.

Jazz planned to keep it that way, because a furious and frustrated Prowl was a Prowl who was temped to increase his battle computer just that little bit more, until only cold, hard logic remained. 

As Wheeljack presented Perceptor’s summary on the start up sequence they were preparing to run in the upcoming decacycles - along with his haphazard list of what Wheeljack viewed as critical features that Jazz was going to have to later determine the function of - Jazz picked at Prowl next to him over their comms in hopes Prowl would let a clue slip. 

::Rumor ‘round base is, Sparkles is still recharging three cycles after Sideswipe blew his circuits in the barracks, then again in the washracks.::

::Why do you insist on spreading rumors to me you know are false.::

It was a start. Prowl detested gossip, but he _was_ prone to gossiping with Jazz privately. 

If Jazz tugged and led him just the right way.

::Well the circuit blow part is right. You saw the aftermath of what those two petrorabbits did to those washracks, but Sparkles ain’t moved from his berth in three cycles. Mech has got recharge delay cortex mods, don’t think he’s slept at all since that first night they crept away.::

::False. At minimum, he recharged when in medical stasis as Ratchet did his repairs.:: 

Suppressing his smirk Jazz swiveled back and forth slightly on his chair, Prowl never could resist a chance to correct such a woefully in accurate absolute statement.

Unable to ever risk accessing Ratchet’s medical files again, Jazz couldn’t confirm Sunstreaker had mods but he was kicking himself for not noticing it until the rumors spread that Sunstreaker hadn’t left his berth for an entire cycle after the party. 

One cycle, turned into two, now midshift onto the third.

::Can’t deny mech’s crashed hard though. Cortexes needs to compile information and clean up open ended strings of code eventually, it makes sense he’s been up based on the evidence.::

::Arcee’s reports state that until the night of the party, Sunstreaker has alternated between staring at an artpad, reading the Autobot code, or onlining his optics and scanning the area every time someone so much as vented too hard in the barracks. Sideswipe is little better. He often onlines and goes for a walk.:: This time Jazz didn’t suppress his smirk.

::You assigned Arcee to handle ‘em if they needed handling eh? Any one of yers been trailing Sideswipe's random wanderings at night? He’s gonna drive Red to glitch.:: Jazz looked to the left of Prowl to see Red Alert narrowing his optics into slits at Prowl and Jazz. Flashing his visor at Red in a semblance of a wink, caused the Security Director to scowl.

::Precisely five breems after Sideswipe leaves the room, Sunstreaker onlines and silently follows like a dataghost. Until these past three cycles, Sunstreaker has always joined him.::

::Mechs are as paranoid as Red but can’t manage to keep their panels closed they’re so revved up for each other -:: Something Prowl slipped sunk in and Jazz twisted it to his advantage. ::Wait, Sparkles is an artist? Huh. I guess that makes sense.::

A pause.

One.

Two.

::Why?::

Jackpot.

::If you can ever manage to turn down that battle computer of yours and keep it at 50% while watching Sparkles do his mobility routine you might figure it out.::

A slight frown formed on Prowl’s face but Jazz knew he had tweaked his interest. He was probably rerunning simulations of Sunstreaker’s aeriform practice disguised and integrated into his combat protocols currently. 

Let em.

Their salvage team may not have found what Perceptor needed from their salvage operation, but their new recruits might prove just as valuable. Something had changed in Ratchet after the night of the party. Jazz glanced toward the CMO to his right. Some of the bitter edge had left his field and replaced with something softer he couldn’t identify. It had to do with Sunstreaker and it was making Jazz twitchy. Medics were the worst to gather information from, Ratchet had his medics vocalizers clamped tight with confidentiality. 

Beyond their new recruits on their salvage run, Hound _had_ found the few spare power crystals Jazz had hoped to find for Spec Ops’ own needs. Enough for Skids and Nautica to finish wiring into their section of the Ark, though Jazz’d prefer more for redundancy and false leads. 

Thinking of leads, he prodded at Prowl again.

::I thought Smokescreen was going to faint when he found out what Sunstreaker did to Cliffjumper. He’s been avoiding Sideswipe like rust.::

::I do not suppose you’ll tell me what happened?::

::’Jumper’s story or Mirage’s?::

::The truth, preferably.:: 

::You’re no fun Prowler.:: A slight hitch of a sensor panel, and Jazz chuckled into his comms ::Fine, twist my arm. ’Jumper ran off his mouth at Sparkles. Sparkles told ‘em not to touch him. As you can imagine after a statement like that, Cliff walked right up to him, intending to poke him, only to find Mirage materializing in the space in front of Sparkles. And as you know, there is no love lost between Mirage and ‘Jumper.::

:: An enmity that could have been avoided had I known about Mirage in the first place instead of him appearing mid combat when Hound was shot. Cliffjumper almost blew off his helm as a Decepticon spy.::

::But he didn’t.:: Primus, Prowl would never let that go, ::Mirage gave ya the codes as one of my operatives.::

::While I understand how the matter escalated considering the personnel involved, I fail to see how this was a private matter for Mirage.:: 

::Ah. See, that’s because ‘Jumper made a remark about Mirage bringing back old noble traditions and called Sparkles a Pit Whore.:: Despite Jazz’s teasing tone, he matched the severity of the sharp edge of the field flared out briefly in his direction. 

::Got worse,:: Jazz continued, dead serious. ::Brawn noticed some trails of energon trickling down Sunstreaker’s backplate, and Cliffjumper asked if Sideswipe liked it rough too then stated he wouldn’t mind a taste of Sides for himself. I believe you walked upon Sunstreaker’s reaction to _that_ shortly after, though what I think you missed was Sunstreaker calling ‘em glitches and promising to reformat them.::

::How _did_ Sunstreaker sustain his injury in the first place.:: The hard tone Prowl took rubbed Jazz’s plating the wrong way. 

::Mirage didn’t frag him in the combat room if that’s what you’re asking.:: He snapped out in defense of his operative.

::But Mirage _did_ block the signal to Red Alert’s cameras. If you are assessing Sunstreaker for Spec Ops - ::

::I ain’t, I swear it.:: Mechs were too unstable for Spec Ops. ::They’ve got their tricks sure, I told ya, they’ve been scavengers for vorns and that’s a fact, but once Sparkle’s patience runs thin…well you saw how quickly he tossed that seeker’s helm at my pedes.::

::And Sideswipe?::

::Something still don’t sit right with me and the way his field flares and moves about a crowd. Never felt anything like it, then it shifted once he was overcharged. He sweeps those around him up in his tide as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. And it’s addictive, he draws ya closer and ya wanna hang out in his orbit.:: 

::But?::

::But when it comes to Sparkles…:: Jazz drummed his digits across the table for a moment while parts of his processor still tracked each of those electrical threads on the Ark schematics. ::Rung’s right. On the battlefield, they’ll always put each other first.::

A slight flick and a flare of Prowl’s sensor panels with the full retreat of his field, and an itch tingled at the back of Jazz’s cortex. He was onto something. Prowl wanted - why would he - 

::You want them to put each other first in a battle.:: Voicing his hunch Jazz couldn’t manage to keep the bafflement out of his tone. ::Why?::

It was dangerous, reckless. Prowl didn’t normally do reckless.

::They are incredibly effective as a team:: Prowl deflected, ::You are only correct 73% of the time…51% of the time when it comes to predicting me. You might as well be playing true or false fifty-fifty odds.::

::You got a point Prowler.:: Jazz flashed is visor in Prowl’s direction, ::Based on the information you know anyway.::

Leaning forward, he could practically hear Prowl fuming at his taunt. Pointing out a quadrant on the Ark schematics officially assigned to Spec Ops, Jazz reminded Wheeljack he wanted a separate dilithium crystal cluster powering that section.

Red Alert scowled toward Jazz and Prowl again, knowing full well the two of them had private encrypted commlinks between them, and the only mech in the room capable of picking up a hint of the buzz that they were in use. 

Let Red think he was still chatting to Prowl during the meeting like an errant pupil. 

::Jazz to Bumblebee::

::Yea Boss?::

::Begin construction of the access tunnels Prime approved on the Ark. I’m forwarding Skids and Nautica the schematics they need to hide the energy source.::

Like Prowler said, some ‘Bots could do more than one process at the same time in a meeting.

While holding a conversation with Wheeljack about creating a closed circuit to hide Spec Op’s existence from the Ark powergrid to divert the prying optics of Decepticon spies, Jazz finalized his own plans to hide the true and secondary location from Decepticons and Autobots alike. 

::I want an access hatch to the Medbay through the supply closet and a second one in the morgue.:: Only medical personnel could ever stand going in there willingly. ::Don’t forget the -::

A prickle of _something_ at the edge of Jazz’s awareness snapped his focus beyond where Ratchet was seated next to Prowl toward the locked entrance. A tone, barely audible reached his sensitive audials, processing through the pitch frequency mods Jazz had installed in his cortex. Wheeljack continued on and there wasn’t so much as a shift of plating from Optimus, Ironhide, Prowl or -

“I TOLD YOU THOSE TWO ARE SPIES AND A PLAGUE UPON THE ENTIRE BASE!” Red Alert sat ram rod straight and typed furiously on his datapad with a scowl.

“Not again Red…” Jazz blocked out the rest of Ironhide’s response. 

::Uh Boss bot:: Hound’s voice came over comms, partitioned through Red Alert’s fuming about Decepticon spies and everyone now shifting about confused, ::Sunstreaker’s berth is empty…you still want tails on em?::

A slight pitch change. Jazz targeted the majority of his systems on the wall where the door code panel would be located as if he could manage to see through the wall itself. Someone was hacking - no, the glitch in door code circuity Jazz had always kept secret to himself. Someone was -

The door retracted with a pneumatic hiss, to reveal one large silhouette with two helms, one with burning near white optics in the bright halls beyond. 

Jazz flicked off the Ark schematics, plunging the War Room strategy table into darkness and shuttered off half of his optical feed to begin internally adjusting it to -

Lights flicked on, “Whew, dark in here. Oh hey guys!” 

Shuttering half of his optical feed on his HUD back on, there was no bright transition to the sudden addition of light, and he saw the tension in Sideswipe’s smile clearly, before it was covered with a laugh, “Wrong room Sunny, let’s just - oof” 

Sunstreaker shouldered past Sideswipe straight through the centre of the doorway as if his conjunx didn’t exist. 

Focus target locked onto Ratchet with a dangerous rev, a snarl contorting his features, and his optics boarding on white. 

Lines and cables pressurized as Jazz lifted himself up off his chair by a small fraction.

It couldn’t bode well that Sideswipe looked nervous as he flashed the room another shaky smile and placed a servo on Sunstreaker’s arm.

But it was the sharp smirk of satisfaction that flashed briefly across Prowl’s field with a slight fanning of his sensor panels that set a chill through Jazz’s lines.

::Prowl, what the frag did you do?::

The Autobot Head of Tactics leaned forward toward the table and linked his servos, his previous frustrated fury now washed away. 

::Nothing that’s not already clearly spelled out in the Autobot code.:: He gloated. ::The Autobot code I remind you, that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both dutifully read. The rules of conjunx endura and deployment, is quite an interesting read if you are looking to brush up without reading all ten thousand pages.::

Jazz watched, as Sunstreaker stormed up to Ratchet and slammed a datapad down in front of him. “What the frag is this.”

“The results of your assignment.”

“You tested me in the Medbay.”

“And you passed. Far better than I could do I might add, considering I gave you no time to review any material. I needed to know what you could do. You have the makings of a spark specialist Sunstreaker, something I desperately need in my Medbay, and in the field to save lives.”

It was as if time stood still and Sideswipe's veiled panicked expression looked slowly between Ratchet and Sunstreaker, then his face positively lit up toward his conjunx. 

“You hear that Sunny? You get to study under an old wise mech and then save lives!”

Ratchet sputtered, "Who are you calling old?"

Though he might as well have been talking to a wall with all the attention the two of them gave him.

“I don’t fix anyone, I tear them -“

“You fix me.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

The two of them locked optics on each other and stared, digits and servos moving rapidly and Jazz internally gaped at the complexity of their code between them.

There was no rhyme, tempo or reason to it as far as he could tell. No baseline to use as reference and build upon.

From there it became abundantly clear as tension returned to Prowl’s frame, that pulling the string of these two mechs did not get him his intended effect. They didn’t mention the Autobot Code at all, nor did they declare themselves conjunx endura and file a request to have their deployment orders tied. 

He was working with all the information he knew, but the information Jazz knew swirled around in his cortex.

Markers of high class upbringing in one, but in a frame and temperament clearly forged in the Pits of Kaon, yet a higher than average working knowledge of spark science apparently. 

The other, field flaring and flicking, truth and lies mingling together as one and difficult to determine if he was deliberately too loud or it was just part of his charm. He drew others to him with his stories of their lives together, all muddled from the mundane to the outright ridiculous.

Yet all mixed with fact indistinguishable from the fiction.

No one that good just came out of no where, and at this point all the prewar shadow organizations had been absorbed into either Jazz’s network or Soundwave’s web as they whittled out the unaffiliated third parties. 

Sideswipe’s words echoed in his cortex, _I’m from no where and everywhere._

A pit formed in Jazz’s fuel tank, he was going to have to send Skids to infiltrate the Decepticons to do some digging.

He couldn’t get a solid read on them at all. Every layer he peeled back simply split off into more questions. 

The stories of their lives just didn’t quite add up, yet he had witnessed for himself them steering seekers like toys. Sideswipe’s stories were all theoretically possible...maybe...however extremely bizarre. Worse, there was _something_ familiar yet alien about Sideswipe’s field manipulation that just simply itched at Jazz’s core. Trying to put it all together in a coherent narrative…it was as if he was back at the spaceports of Staniz watching two aliens clashing from an entirely different world to a melody he had no frame of reference to follow.

As events bounced back and forth between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Jazz examined every shift of plating, every flick of a field for a clue.

One thing was certain.

Ratchet or Prowl, who ever had Sunstreaker under their command in the end, had no say in the matter anymore.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker marched to an entirely different beat than each other and those around them. 

And Sideswipe was hitting all the right notes straight to Optimus' spark.

The spark wrenching part, was the melody of truth behind his story of their past as he opened up to them. They’d been through so much together, they’d die for each other. Suddenly the differences between them melted away into harmony with that one underlying fact, and Jazz’s spark ached as he glanced toward Prowl.

The foundation of a conjunx bond, of two sparks trusting, loving, and devoting themselves to each other so completely as to rotate in sync in the Pits of Kaon, defied all odds.

Jazz was left with a processor ache along with his aching spark as he tried to track the lines of their lives through the maze of fact and fiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker's rage isn't spent. Next chapter, Sideswipe performs damage control from the fall out of Sunstreaker barging in a rage mid meeting. That is what Jazz is reacting to at the end of this scene.
> 
> A little more information of how Sunstreaker, and sometimes Sideswipe, will get through door codes. Hopefully the rest of the tech behind it will be made clear from their POV next chapter, but it has to do with slight tone changes and energy transfer through the circuit. Out of anyone in the Autobots beyond Hound, Jazz would be someone with the potential to notice an underlying rhythm in Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when they sync. 
> 
> I wanted to get this first part up before I take off for a few days. I might have some time to finish the second part of this scene, that's the scene I've been dying to get to but Jazz had to set up too much future event stuff for you this chapter as well as tie up some lose threads.
> 
> Plus I like that Jazz can get Prowl to gossip with him during a meeting. XD


	27. The Art of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a wild emotional ride.

The little red blinking light of an private message glyph notification had been taunting Sideswipe on his HUD for almost three cycles now.

Sunny had crashed hard after Sideswipe’s tickle ambush in the washracks, finally having the time to vent and for Sideswipe to smooth out some of his harder edges along their bond. It wasn’t just the mods Sunny bought himself in the Pits that he was running, for as long as Sideswipe knew his Sunny, he had always been able to delay recharge by fractioning off separate areas of his cortex into recharge. Sideswipe could never manage to do it, he just got dizzy when Sunny tried to walk him through his systems and Sunny didn’t remember learning how to do it. 

Sideswipe figured Sunny could do it because he worried so much about everything. Always running through his little what-ifies in his processor and running each potential decision he made, and ones he had already made, through his cortex again and again. 

He had wanted to delay recharge for one more cycle, said he had his meeting with Rung the next day and still had to complete his drawing. 

There was a deadline, and what if he failed. What if what he wanted to draw was the wrong answer? What if he had already messed everything up for them by trying to socialize on his own? What if he missed something when he was talking to Ratchet in the Medbay and he’d wake up with a single optic for a helm? What if someone poked Sideswipe’s special spark? What if there were more tests? 

What if, what if, what if.

Half of them he didn’t even have to tell Sideswipe outright he was running around in his cortex. Sideswipe just knew by the different tones of his worry he pulsed over their bond once he got Sunny to stop holding himself so tight.

And the longer he went without recharge, the worse his what-ifies would always get and the more still he’d become.

He’d compile situations upon situations, or ‘predictions’ as Sunny called them, and they’d start running into each other in what Sideswipe called a “giant spinny twisty snarl of what-ifies.” They’d spin and snarl until he locked himself up and started running everything on silent like in Praxus when he wanted to give Sideswipe his yellow Just Because crystal.

So Sideswipe had helped him with his drawing, and of course it was perfect. 

By the time they left the washracks, both Sideswipe and Sunny’s finishes were immaculate to Sunny’s meticulous standards. Sideswipe had detailed Sunny, and as his digits worked the cloth between his seams, his Sunny’s plating started to relax from his frame.

As they left, Sunny had lingered in the center of the open doorway, cleanser bubbling at his pedes, and Sideswipe pulled his Sunny’s helm against his own and stared into his optics. Syncing their ventillations, sparks aching, Sideswipe pinged layers of promises that _he’d_ handle Rung for Sunny.

In the barracks, it took some cajoling and relentless poking along their bond on Sideswipe’s part, but Sunny finally disabled his mods and reconnected all the pathways in his cortex. Sideswipe had laid on his front with his optics offline, arm dangling down to be that much closer as he sent soothing silly pulses over their bond with accompanying promises that Sunny was stuck with Sideswipe forever slugging around in his spark. 

And with Sideswipe’s rust slug song humming softly along their bond, Sunny entered recharge.

But Sideswipe had been too twitchy and couldn’t sleep.

Overcharge had still lingered in his circuits; his helm spun. Every time he almost entered recharge, he would jolt awake, spark racing and peek over the edge of the berth to ensure his Sunny was still beneath him. 

To calm his coiling spark, he hung thermal blankets all around the bottom of his berth to shield Sunny from view. 

To be extra clear, he had painted an army of scraplets on the blankets to show what would be fall any who breeched his fortress, and hung up a warning sign he painted.

And with Sunny finally catching up on recharge for who knew how many cycles, Sideswipe had had no hope of reading the message that had arrived on his HUD the next morning.

Now three cycles later, Sideswipe was mid conversation in the multipurpose room when he felt Sunny wake up along their bond. 

Sending him a cheerful ping and pulse good morning, even though it was more afternoon, he raised his cube of engex to his lips.

//I think I got our deployment orders for you to help me read Sunny, and I’ve got some new lucky door wingie language points for you. I’m fairly certain I know how to really frag Prowl off.//

It took him two summons to Prowl’s datapad storage room - mech couldn’t possible have read all those datapads in Sideswipe’s opinion - to determine his blinking message was from Prowl. 

With each summons, Prowl had kept asking if Sideswipe had any questions about his deployment orders and Sideswipe had been able to answer honestly that he didn’t.

He just…didn’t know exactly what his deployment orders said yet.

Every time he called him into his office he’d ask the same thing but in a round about way that would have made Sunny fume over their bond. He kept bringing up some section of the Autobot Code. Sideswipe kept telling him that if he had any questions or wanted to talk about transitive verbs and enlightening beacons he’d go talk to Ultra Magnus.

But upping the size of his smiles and chattering about the morality system in Autobots, definitely fragged Prowl off.

//I’ll be right…what the frag did you do to our berth?// Sideswipe cackled, basked and spun in the greeting ping he received response.

//It was the most formidable warning I could think of.//

A scoff echoed over their bond, he knew Sideswipe didn’t believe the sign he hung up for klick, but Sunny’s pings had definitely lost some of their harder edges after his prolonged recharge.

//Are these…suppose to be scraplets?//

//Yup! What gave them away?//

//The fact that a stick figure mech is shooting circles with triangles out of a…cylinder.//

//Scraplet Cannon!// Sideswipe pinged that Sunny got the correct answer, //Those triangles are their rows of deadly, adorable teeth obviously.//

Their bond went quiet, and Sideswipe pinged Sunny with a love ball. //I gave Rung your drawing. Little space shrink ‘bot was startled to see me leaning on his doorway but I gave him my most charming smile and a wink for you.//

//Were you on time?// That’s what Sunny asked, but that wasn’t what he meant.

//Yup! He said thank you, and that it wasn’t necessary to still show it to him if you couldn’t make your appointment.//

//That doesn’t make sense.// Sunstreaker grumbled.

//He liked your drawing Sunny, and he invited me in and we talked about how talented you are and how much you like to draw.// That seemed to relax Sunny again, but Sideswipe hadn’t liked how Rung had specified that Sunny’s drawing assessments were more about seeing Sunstreaker than to have Sideswipe come and submit his drawings in his place. 

There was still something about that little ‘bot and his interest in Sunny that rubbed Sideswipe’s plating wrong down to his spark and set his field flaring - even if Sideswipe begrudgingly admitted he had enjoyed taking all his little spaceships out of their homes and spreading them out around the room while he talked.

//Your glyphs have improved. You got them all in order. This is a good sentence for you.//

Along their bond, Sideswipe beamed. That was Sunny’s way of saying thanks, I’m proud of you, and I love you all at once for the sign Sideswipe made so others wouldn’t disturb him.

Feeling his Sunny on the move, Sideswipe returned most of his attention back to the conversation around him he’d been having while he talked to Sunny over their bond. Like a glowing enlightening beacon of biolights in the dark, Sunny’d find him anywhere.

“No no. That’s my point.” Sitting on the table with his legs crossed, Sideswipe poked at the circle on the palm of Trailbreaker’s servo. “Where does your forcefield go in the ground when you hit your panic bubble?”

Trailbreaker’s field jolted, and for a fraction of a klick Sideswipe prepped damage control for asking a question everyone else understood, ready to laugh it off.

“I…” Trailbreaker looked down at the forcefield circle thingies in his servos a slight downturn to his mouth, “I’m not actually sure.”

That response set Sideswipe’s cortex racing with exciting possibilities. 

“But you can’t be moved?” He leaned forward to peer closer at the round forcefield thingies.

“No.” With a shake of his head, Trailbreaker’s field wavered in uncertainty, “I think I could take a hit from Overlord…until time ran out.”

“What if I cut out the ground from under you,” Sideswipe looked up to see his own curious refection in Trailbreaker’s visor, “Can I pick you up with a giant scoop?”

“You a triple changer Sideswipe?” Blurr chuckled from his place next to Trailbreaker, “Third alt-mode is a giant scoop?”

“Bet he transforms into the servo of Primus himself.” Swerve chimed in, topping up the cubes of those around him with the engex Sideswipe had learned he mixed on the sly.

A round of laughter rang out from around Sideswipe and the corners of his mouth lifted higher as he flicked his field, lapping at the edges of their mirth. A warm tingle shot down his frame and he pulsed it to Sunny to include him in the fun along their bond.

“He makes a good point though,” Bluestreak added his voice to the conversation when the laugher drifted off, “Think about it, why wouldn't a giant scoop work?” 

Sideswipe nudged a little further against Bluestreak’s field for his support, and smiled at him in encouragement.

“Where would a giant scoop come from mid-battle?” Trailbreaker scratched at the back of his helm.

“I think ya’ll are over looking the bigger weakness,” Blaster spoke up, leaning back on his chair and placing his pedes on the table, “If that wasn’t a sim, Blurr could have killed Trailbreaker from within his panic bubble and no one could have gotten to him.”

The fields around Sideswipe gained a heavy weight as everyone went silent and stared into their cubes, but it was Trailbreaker’s wavering field Sideswipe focused on.

“Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would find a way to get to you even if I had to blast up from underneath.” Skirting further past the edges of Trailbreaker’s slight tremble in his field, Sideswipe’s pulsed in confidence as he looked straight at Trailbreaker. “It’s not a shell because it can’t be pushed around on the ground right?”

A random revving came from the direction of the hallway along with the sound of heavy ped steps. Glancing up, Sideswipe locked optics with Sunny as soon as he entered the room, and waved as he set his cube of engex Swerve had passed around down beside his leg.

//Sunny where do you think Trailbreaker’s forcefield goes into the ground when he’s in his panic bubble? It can’t be pushed or broken, are you on team scoop with me for ways to move it?//

//Ask him to jump off a crate and activate it. Sphere is its natural shape.//

Sunny didn’t bother to look over at Sideswipe as he stomped straight down the center of the room toward the fuel dispenser for his ration.

//…Sphere?// Sideswipe pinged playfully he turned back to the conversation continuing around him and nudged his cube toward Trailbreaker who took it without question and tossed it back.

//Round ballie thingie - Oh frag you, you just wanted to hear me say - Ha fragging ha. You know exactly what a -// 

“I don’t think -“

A sudden spike of burning hot fury shot through Sideswipe’s spark, interrupting his focus on Trailbreaker’s response. Without thought and moving purely on reflex, Sideswipe whipped his helm back up to see Sunstreaker abruptly turn and stomp back toward the exit... 

Faceplate completely void of even an attempt at emotion, and Sideswipe’s spark was pounding against its casing

Without a direct link to Sunny’s spark, the Autobots would never know the simmering fury Sunstreaker was radiating. But as Sunny went stomping out as if everything was normal - for Sunny - Sideswipe launched himself over Trailbreaker’s helm with a flip, and chased after his abruptly storming and simmering weirdo. 

Sunstreaker _felt_ ready to drag a ‘Bot to a dark corner and lay them out into puzzle pieces. 

//What’s wrong.// Sideswipe probed as he skidded around the corner to the hallway, racing to catch up. Processor spiraling out in all directions, and searching for what set him off, Sideswipe’s spark sank with his first guess. //If this is about Mirage and your mobility routine, it doesn’t matter where it came from, it’s your mobility routine now…and you love it. I came up with a couple of new ideas for you with Bluestreak while you were sleeping and…//

He didn’t get anything but impossibly more boiling fury in response.

//…Sunny?// He sent a ping pattern.

Nothing.

//Did someone touch you?// 

//Got our fragging assignments.// Sunstreaker snarled along their bond as he grabbed a datapad out of a passing ‘Bot’s servo. Typing furiously on it as he stomped, he then thrust it in front of Sideswipe without stopping, //Uplink//.

//Yea I figured the message had something to do about that.// Sideswipe jacked into the datapad, while tossing an apology over his shoulder at the stunned red science ‘Bot that was now standing in the hallway without a datapad. //I recognized the glyph for my name and I knew Ratchet didn’t sent it, but I haven’t studied the others but I’m mostly one hundred percent sure it was from Prowl because he kept trying to talk to me about our deployment orders and I kept fragging him off with my diversions.//

Sunny didn’t so much as slow his pace. 

Upload complete, Sideswipe jogged to surpass his furious Sunny, turned backwards, matched his pace, and extended the datapad. Sunny snatched it out of his grasp, didn’t bother to read it manually, just jacked it straight into his systems from a wire he drew out from the back of his neck. Blue optics bordering on white unfocused and flickered slightly as he continued his storming pace forward, rapidly scanned the message Sideswipe received three cycles ago.

//Prowl thinks we’ll have questions.// Sideswipe added, //I stalled for as long as I could until you -//

//You’re going to the frontlines.// The wave of abject frustration and fury caused Sideswipe to falter in his backwards pace, and he spun around to draft at Sunny’s shoulder as he found his steps.

//I don’t understand…I thought that’s what we wanted…?//

//I said _you’re_ going to the frontlines. _I’m_ being sent for additional training.//

//But…// Sideswipe’s processor raced. //But we passed everything together. We impressed _everyone_ , Prowl included.//

Based on their performance…Sunny being sent for extra training didn’t make sense. The Prime gave them their face thingies on the spot, Sunny read as much of the Autobot code as he could, combat training was a joke. It didn’t make sense…unless -

Little shrinkie fragger.

//You said Rung said you couldn’t fail -//

//I fragged everything up.// The wave of failure emanating under that fury was impossible for Sideswipe to break through, //I should have kept to myself. I should never have thought Ratchet -//

Sideswipe’s engine stalled as his spark coiled in terror, and he froze before he jogged the few steps to catch up to his raging Sunny furiously tapping away on the stolen datapad.

//What about Ratchet? Did he poke at questions about your spark again? Did you tell him you don’t talk about your life without me?//

//Worse.// Expression finally made its way onto Sunny’s face as his engine revved. His optics lost any remaining blue, as if Sideswipe needed any more indications that Sunny was _furious_.

//I’ll talk to Jazz. The Prime. Ultra Magnus. Prowl. I’ll come up with something.// Pulsing reassurance along their bond, Sideswipe tried to calm his Sunny’s hard edges across their bond. //Whatever happened Sunny, I can fix it. I’m good at fixing things you know that.//

//Frag Jazz and the rest. They are all fragging illogical. Ratchet yelled at me when he opened you up. I thought he looked and sounded furious, and he’s always yelling at me, yet he came to let me out of the Autobot cells and explained things, and I thought…but it’s his fragging field isn’t it. I missed - I always fragging miss -// 

And there was the source of the frustration driving Sunny’s fury.

//His expressions are often furious and his tone is mostly angry, but Ratchet’s field goes soft sometimes when he yells. He’s impressed with you, I think he likes you more than he likes me, I don’t think he had a clue how I was still functional.//

//You could have fragging told me about his _field_.// Sunstreaker muttered as he continued to stomp down the halls, Autobots jumping out of his way as he stalked straight down the middle.

//Look. I’ll think of something, did Ratchet say something else to you the night you went to…where are you going anyway? The creepy Medbay is in the other direction.// Sunstreaker certainly seemed like he had a clear destination in mind, and he was always great with directions.

//Meeting.//

//What meeting?// Sideswipe squawked, //You didn’t ask me to help you prepare for a meeting… Sunny what are you -// 

Sideswipe’s spark coiled as Sunny came to an abrupt halt in front of a door Sideswipe remembered from Bluestreak’s tour. 

//Sunny, no.// Sideswipe grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away.

// _Sunny, yes._ // He practically spat across their bond, yanking his arm out of Sideswipe’s grasp. //I am not being separated from you again.// 

Under the full force of Sunstreaker’s rage lighting up their bond, Sideswipe stood rooted to the floor while Sunstreaker stared hard at the door panel code, then began to enter his first sequence.

Sunny had explained it once, how he could figure out codes based on slight tone changes. 

He’d used more complicated words the first time he did it on the streets of Kaon and Sideswipe had barely been able to follow along. Something about transistors being activated and changing electrical properties in the circuit to effect the voltage across the buzzer. A complicated way of stating there was less energy for the buzzer after the first button was pushed, causing a tiny decrease of volume and pitch for the next correct button. Sunny said it was similar to what their pings first sounded like between their sparks. 

Apparently that’s why Sunny had thought their youngling game of Ping Pattern had been a “sequencing and series pattern recognition exercise.” 

Slag sucking Shockwave had taught him that the mech who programmed the original coding for keypads had made a slight deep code error that had never been corrected, and assigned Sunny complicated sequences to decipher on a keypad.

Sideswipe could do it when he concentrated. Not as fast as Sunny and normally Sideswipe let Sunny play with the door codes they found.

Especially Red Alert’s. That mech changed them constantly and when Sideswipe couldn’t recharge, Sunny would let him into Red Alert’s button room. Sunny enjoyed the “sequence and pattern challenge,” as he called it, for breaking back into Red Alert’s button room.

This time, it took three tries before Sunny got the right sequence.

Sideswipe had Sunny help access the most amazing rooms that ‘Bots sometimes kept behind locked doors, but this door didn’t slide open to reveal a room of tempting screens and buttons, or crates of supplies - it opened to startled and surprised faceplates, fields, and direct objections to their presence. 

One furious illuminated expression on a face was extremely familiar - the Autobot Security Director, Red Alert. 

Several severe and startled fields battered at the edges of Sideswipe’s as the room was cast into darkness, and with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Sideswipe started damage control. 

“Whew, dark in here.” Fuel pump racing, Sideswipe clicked on the lights, “Oh hey guys!” A little smile here, a little laugh there and guide Sunny away before…“Wrong room Sunny, let’s just - oof” 

A heavy weight knocked Sideswipe out of the way, and his raging ball of beyond rumbles and grumbles stalked forward into the room. Oblivious to the spikes of alarm and warning in the Autobot Command’s EM fields, Sunstreaker stomped straight toward Ratchet. Pistons pressurizing Sideswipe prepped to launch and tackle Sunny but with a clipped _bang_ , the datapad was slammed on the table in front of the Autobot CMO.

“What the frag is this.” Sunstreaker snarled, and that one definitely was not one of his smiles.

Ratchet narrowed his optics at Sunstreaker then glanced down at whatever Sunny had transferred to the datapad he stole from the science ‘bot in the corridor.

“The results of your assignment.” He said simply, but his field hinted in a smug challenge.

//What’s he talking about Sunny?//

//He set a fragging datapad next to me in the Medbay.//

“You tested me.” Sunstreaker continued aloud without missing a beat.

//Tell me you didn’t…//

//I thought it was one of First Aid’s assignments and I corrected his errors. I was stressed…and you were off cuddling Smokescreen doing fragging overcharged field stuff.// Sunstreaker snarled over their bond.

“And you passed.” Ratchet answered, “Far better than I could do I might add, considering I gave you no time to review any material. I needed to know what you could do. You have the makings of a spark specialist Sunstreaker, something I desperately need in my Medbay, and in the field to save lives.” 

Ratchet’s field pulsed his truth and how impressed he was toward Sunstreaker, and before Sideswipe could translate that over his bond to Sunny’s spark, Ratchet’s words registered in his cortex.

An instant of eternity spread out before Sideswipe: all their trials and victories, all their pain and adventures, converging down onto this single moment. His spark spun and leapt as he nudged open the bond between them a little wider. This was it, and it felt as if time suspended as Sideswipe looked toward his brilliant, beautiful, and talented Sunny. 

…Sunny could save…

 _Sunstreaker_ could be a -

//Sideswipe no.//

His cortex batted aside Sunny’s objections, he could feel this in his spark and every tingle of his being. This was Sunny’s moment: his hero call. Sideswipe had always known his Sunny was smart but this…this was the moment that Sunny could become what he was destined to become. 

//Sunny YES!//

The smile that stretched across Sideswipe’s face as he beamed at his Sunny could not be calculated or contained as he blared his excitement and encouragement in a vibrated disaster along their bond.

“You hear that Sunny? You get to study under an old wise mech and then save lives.” This was perfect. This is what Sunny had been missing, that Sideswipe didn’t even know they needed. 

“I don’t fix anyone, I tear them -“

“You fix me.” Sideswipe countered before Sunny could finish, fighting him and pulling him close as Sunny retreated and narrowed down his side of their bond.

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

By unspoken agreement pulsing between them in a glimmer of harmony, the two of them locked optics on each other and stared, digits and servos moving as they moved their argument internally.

//It’s different because you’re _my idiot_.//

//So? You could help others too Sunny, and it gives you a task to talk to them about, and you can throw medical bits at your patients like Triage, and tell everyone they are wrong and that you know more, and -//

//You hate it in there. We’ll be apart.// A sliver of fear pulsed through Sunny’s frustration.

//We can paint it orange, like you promised, and -// 

//I can’t Sideswipe.// 

//Sure you can.// Sunny was just caught up in his what-iffies that’s all, Sideswipe could help clear them up. //You’re smart and I think this is what we’ve been missing: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe searched and searched all across the wilds and vast cities of Cybertron, only to find the old wise mech they needed to guide them was deep within the bowels of the forbidden -//

//This isn’t one of your adventure stories!// Sunny hissed, //This is serious.//

//But it could be Sunny! Don’t you see?// Sideswipe pulsed and wove everything he saw into a melody to be shared. It was beautiful but it was just the start. He needed Sunny to join with his bits and - //You just have to _try_ and magic will happen. You have a gift you can share with others, with all of Cybertron! No one knows more about special sparks than you! You’re always looking at sparks and this must be why! You just -//

//I _can’t_.//

//You can.//

//You don’t understand. I said I _can’t_.// Sunny couldn’t find his words to explain and he refused to add them to the melody - just pulsed his anxiety and fear toward Sideswipe. He was so scared it hurt, his little pings trembling along their bond, but Sunny could do this, Sideswipe knew he could.

//You can.// He pulsed everything he felt his Sunny could be along their bond, //Sunstreaker is the smartest, most talented, perfect, and most beautiful spark that could ever -//

“I CAN’T BECAUSE I’M NOT A FRAGGING MEDIC!” The frustration and looping fear raged toward Sideswipe’s spark in a requiem of terror. Pedes rooted in place, Sideswipe stood with his optics locked entirely on Sunstreaker before him.

“You need more training, certainly, but your repairs on Sideswipe tell a different story,” Ratchet interjected before Sideswipe could find it in himself to push back against the frozen spark wrenching tide of Sunny’s emotions, “And Jazz stated you replaced Sideswipe’s ankle joint with frankly astonishing speed considering the quality of repair I examined when you first arrived. I had thought he was embellishing until I examined your skills myself.”

Sunstreaker’s bleached optics focus locked toward Jazz and it was as if the coil of Sunny’s emotions clenching tight to their bond snapped, the invisible chains that had been holding Sideswipe in place went with his glare. That glare directed toward Jazz seared Sideswipe’s spark and Sunstreaker’s engine emitted a low rumbling rev.

“Sunny, _stop_!” The instant Sideswipe touched Sunstreaker’s arm to guide him from the room, his engine went ominously still, “Let’s go for a walk, we’ll talk about this.”

“Frag that.” Sunstreaker tore his arm out of his hold again and glared at High Command. “I’m done with fragging _talking_ with Autobots.”

//They aren’t separating us.// He added simultaneously. 

//They won’t.// Sideswipe pulsed his promise with a love ball, //Just let us talk, let me think, I’ll come up with - DON’T -//

It was too late, all Sideswipe’s little pings and pleas went unanswered, bouncing off down their bond with no response but cold, hard frustrated fury.

Reaching into his subspace, Sunstreaker withdrew his datapad he’d had for as long as Sideswipe knew him, and jacked it into the center console of the table with practiced ease.

"Perhaps you haven’t heard the stories around base Ratchet because Sideswipe can be rather loud,” Sunstreaker began, his attention only on the controls of the center display, “but in case your audials are malfunctioning let me show you.” Pressing a button, a giant holographic, impeccable technical rendering of Megatron loomed in the center of the table in glowing frame wired blue. 

Manipulating the space around it, Sunstreaker pulled his servos outwards and his projected two dimensional drawing morphed into a three dimensional rendering of Megatron. A wave of his digits, and Sunny’s Megatron drawing exploded, laid out into perfectly aligned internal components. 

“ _Sunstreaker_ is a fragging butcher.” He stated his fact, stabbing straight into Sideswipe’s spark.

Standing impeccably straight, staring straight at the Prime, Sunstreaker scrolled to another of his Megatron drawings. 

Then another.

Completely oblivious to the rolling waves of pain in the Prime’s field, and revulsion twisting in Ironhide and Red Alert’s.

“I told you I’d give you copies of all the places I tried to find Megatronus’ spark chamber, then I decided to be a loyal fragging Autobot and added more.” He cycled rapidly through more frames, more Decepticons. More gladiatiors, more patrons, and Sideswipe’s fuel tank sank. Copies of almost every mech or femme they had ever met since they escaped the lab together, flashed before him across the center of the table. “Some of these Decepticons are offline.”

The rapid pace of the files scrolled to a halt and Sideswipe couldn’t find words as he came face to face with the mech who had tortured him and mocked his special spark in Kaon. All he could manage to do was try to keep the phantom digits from poking at his spark as he grasped for his Sunny through their bond.

The face of the mech Megatron had awarded Sunstreaker for a job well done in Polyhex, stared blankly back at Sideswipe. 

_Cut to pieces Just Because Sunstreaker had asked for him._

The bond between them flashed from icy cold to red hot, the only warning -

//…Sunny…please don’t.// His whimper along their bond went ignored.

Sunstreaker exploded the view of his three dimensional technical drawing, each impeccable detail visible and suspended in place. Detailed glyphs, pretty symbols Sideswipe had no chance of reading were on display.

Notes. Sunny had taken notes.

After two rotations of Sideswipe’s trembling spark, he dropped his focus to his pedes, and Sunstreaker rendered the mech back into one piece. 

“My notes are thorough. As are my observations. Each deactivated Decepticon in this file are ones I can personally assure you have been terminated over the vorns. These files are out of date, but they must have some strategic value to you if you cross reference them with your own.”

The Autobots around the table were completely silent as more drawings than Sideswipe could count continued to cycle across the display. 

And Sideswipe could only manage to raise up his gaze to stare mournfully at the back of Sunstreaker’s helm. 

Extending his field in comfort did nothing, but it didn’t stop the ache of wanting to wrap his Sunny up in it and pulse soothing comfort along with his spark. 

He _knew_ Sunny spent most of his time in the Pits and the Decepticons on his own doing his puzzles, visually dissecting mechs and drawing his results. Doing his little communication experiments and trying to understand their frame language, but Sideswipe hadn’t known there had been so many. 

And Sideswipe had been having fun, making friends and -

Sunny did - Sunny had done nothing else but _this_ while waiting patiently in the shadows for Sideswipe to pay attention to him with a brief secret glance, or ask for repairs.

For _vorns_.

Just like - Sideswipe’s fuel tank contorted. 

//Sunny…it won’t be like that again.// 

//You’re right.// The double ping of a correct pattern completion was sent across their bond.

“Sideswipe and I are placed together.” Sunstreaker hovered his digit over a button as he delivered his ultimatum, “Or I delete them all. Every frame weakness I recorded. Every -”

“Do NOT delete that.”

Terror shot through their bond at the same time a field matching Sideswipe burning rage and hatred lashed out across the table. Sideswipe's cortex spun and his fuel tank rebelled, torn in two directions; frozen and unable to move as the emotionless red optic stare of _Shockwave_ loomed before him. 

The monster of his nightmares was massive, and despite his adult upgrade Sideswipe felt as if he were a helpless youngling again under that stare.

_Boom. Splat. Hot fresh energon dripping under plating -_

Sunny’s servo trembled over the button, their bond festering and dripping in guilt lined in icy cold terror, but the fury of that field drew Sideswipe like a magnet. 

Tracking it, he was able to peel his frozen focus from that red optic to the source of that field mirroring so much of his own.

Prowl stood, door wingies high and shaking, leaning on the table and staring at the single looming red optic of Shockwave’s new frame Sideswipe knew Sunny had only seen once. 

And there were notes. 

So many of Sunny’s pretty detailed glyphs of notes orbiting around him. 

But the _pain_. 

There had been so much vindictive and furious pain in Prowl’s field, and Sideswipe probed with his own, searching and lapping for edges to feel it again, only to be intercepted by Jazz’s field with a hard warning edge.

“Prowl sit down.” 

Prime’s voice and field reached out to take command of those around him and the moment was shattered.

Faster than Sideswipe had ever seen Sunstreaker move for anything not related to pulling Sideswipe’s aft out of the fire, Sunstreaker disconnected his datapad and shoved it back into this subspace and refused to look at anyone.

Prowl looked like he was about to object but the Prime intervened.

“Not now Prowl. Sit. Down.” Sideswipe’s fuel pump was racing and Sunny was retreating along their bond yet he looked to the Prime when he spoke. “Sunstreaker you do not need to bribe us with intel for a place among us. We have a dire need of more medics. But perhaps you could explain why you wish to remain together with Sideswipe?” 

Sideswipe simultaneously wanted to hug the Prime for soothing the fields of his officers after what Sunny had displayed, and run far away because he had no clue how to work themselves out of this corner his Sunny had wedged them in. 

Before Sideswipe could make up an answer to help Sunny along their bond, Sunny looked at Prime and answered.

“No.” 

Sideswipe sent him a sharp ping through their bond and Sunstreaker batted it away. 

Technically he had told the truth, which is more than Sideswipe would have done. Prime had asked if he could explain why they wished to remain together and honestly they had no clue, they just did. Pretty much from the moment they met, Sideswipe just wanted to be together with his Sunny.

Ratchet sputtered first. “That’s it? Just, no?”

“Correct.” Sunstreaker kept his focus locked on the Prime. “You send me to the frontlines, in the same unit as Sideswipe, or we are gone and these files go with me. There is no option in between.”

“Sunstreaker,” Prime stated calmly, “Medics are in short supply and it is difficult to find any new mechs this late in the war with the aptitude. Ratchet states you have the makings of a spark specialist. That is an incredibly specialized and disciplined field of study, one of which some medical knowledge has simply been lost over the vorns of the war. Once you have completed your training we can consider deploying you as a frontline field medic with -“

“Unacceptable.” Sideswipe cringed as Sunny’s short retort. Not only had Sunstreaker interrupted the Prime, he’d gone deadly still and he used that stupid parameter he lived his life by despite Sideswipe’s hard work to break him of it.

//Sunny stop. I mean it. You’re done.// Sideswipe jabbed hard over their bond.

Sunstreaker rounded on him.

“Your termination is an Unacceptable variable I will not allow. You are a non-negotiable constant in my life. There are too many parameters I can not control if I am not perm-“

// - Sunny you are being weird.// Sunstreaker’s mouth abruptly snapped shut as he turn and stomped out of the room without a single word further to the Autobot Command.

//I’ll pack as many supplies as I can and grab Bluestreak. We’re leaving.// He sent resignation to Sideswipe over their bond and Sideswipe knew that was as much as an apology as he was going to get for Sunny storming in here without consulting him first. 

Sunstreaker was trying to _correct his error_ instead of just saying sorry, and Sideswipe fragging hated slag sucking Shockwave.

As the door hissed shut in Sunstreaker’s wake, Sideswipe was left with baffled looks of stunned confusion, and Prowl’s intense focus he had aimed at Sunstreaker now snapped to Sideswipe. Jazz was no longer slouched in his chair. Red Alert muttered something once about being right about spies and Ratchet snapped at him and the room descended into silence.

Fragging Shockwave; it was going to be perfect but Sunny wasn’t ready yet.

So Sideswipe sent a ping pattern over their bond in apology for pushing too hard with all the wrong buttons.

Rubbing at the back of his neckplating, Sideswipe shuffled from pede to pede while his processor grasped for ideas. He knew the smile locked on his face didn’t reach his optics, so he let it fall and he worried his lower lip.

His spark was racing. His fuel pump was pounding. All optics were on him.

He had no idea how to even begin to fix this… 

He tried anyway.

Cycling a large ventilated sigh, he reached to pull Sunny back out from where he hid himself along their bond.

“You have to understand…” The slight static laced tremor in his voice wasn’t faked, they had no where else to go, and Sunny clearly couldn’t handle being separated from Sideswipe again, even to be a hero that saved lives. “Sunny won’t ever talk about it…but he was forced to learn to do repairs in the Pits.” 

When he felt a few of their fields flinch at the mention of the Pits of Kaon, Sideswipe’s racing spark slowed as his optics moved from each and every one of them seated around the circular table, trying to track the source.

A weakness he could exploit, from mechs with soft sparks.

He took a step forward.

“The Pits were different than a battlefield.” He looked to Ironhide, the mech who recognized them from their vorns as gladiators and called Sideswipe’s Sunstreaker a _butcher_. That festered deep inside Sideswipe.

Crossing his arms, Sideswipe gave the mech a weak smile, “Mechs fight for cheers - for sport and credits. It’s advertised as a competition of skill, yet I’ve been doing some checking. No one in your ranks ever trained there. You ever actually go to a live match ‘Hide?”

Ironhide shook his head, “No. Only satellite livestreams and vids.”

Sideswipe had not been idle in the evenings. As he’d been weaving the story of their lives among the ranks, and making friends, he’d been listening to others. Autobot’s talked.

A lot.

“You could say I went willingly,” he continued with another step forward, “That I had a talent for combat. But I went because…I got stuck. Wedged in a corner and the only way out was signing a contract.” 

Autobots were weird, they _liked_ vulnerabilities laid bare, and he gambled away a full truth. 

“My contract was for life.” 

His guess paid off as Ironhide lowered his optics, and like his point matches, Sideswipe began to keep score over his bond to Sunstreaker.

//One.//

He stepped closer toward Ironhide as Sunstreaker gave all his focus toward Sideswipe along their bond. The weapon’s master sat right next to the Prime, and Optimus was shifting his focus between them. 

“The cheers…” Sideswipe primed his audience for his next strike, “Make a combatant do odd things. I once saw a mech tear all the plating off his opponent piece by piece then laugh and toy with him before the match was finally called. The crowd went wild. His opponent was laughing too, in the end.” 

Ironhide’s shoulder’s hunched under the Prime’s gaze and Jazz shifted his attention from Sideswipe to Ironhide a fraction.

//Two.// Sideswipe already knew from conversations with the mech, Ironhide had watched that match. He gave nothing away for that strike.

And he flit his field around the edges of those in the room, looking for his next target.

“Point matches…don’t end in death.” The moment he took to pause was half to steady himself and half for dramatic effect. “But I want you to consider what happens when the cameras go dark and the stadium empties. I’ve seen dead mech’s left walking with their cortexes exposed, mecha staring lifelessly at walls letting time pass around them, or dragging themselves for their last fuel as their lower struts are left for slag because they can’t afford the repairs.” 

The largest flinch came from Ratchet, seconded by Wheeljack whose helm fins flared pink along with the distress in his field.

//Three and four.//

“In some ways,” Sideswipe locked his optics on Prowl and Jazz who had seen Sunny decapitated a seeker in his root mode with a single fluid slice, “Sunny’s death matches were kinder in the end.”

Those two’s sparks must be harder. Sideswipe called that strike a draw when they both continued to meet his gaze.

“I’m a fighter. I’ve been a fighter all my life. I don’t quit. I don’t stop.” Looking toward Red Alert Sideswipe flashed him a conspiring smirk as he moved on, walking in a semi-circle around the table to find his final position. “I poke at everything around me, even all the things I shouldn’t. And I always bounce back up on my pedes. But Sunny…he’s not like me. He’s finicky, precise. He tried to make his kills quick but the crowd didn’t like that. It wasn’t _entertaining_ enough.”

Red Alert dropped his gaze back to his datapad.

//Five.//

“You Autobots call him a butcher,” Sideswipe found his position and appealed to the Prime across the table, “but he was never intended for combat.”

“Sideswipe,” Ratchet interrupted softly, “That is exactly what we are offering him -“

“Remember when Sunny prepared my parts for me before you started my repairs?”

Ratchet nodded, “I’ve never seen anything like it. And those technical schematics he just showed…don’t pay attention to Ironhide and Red Alert’s squeamish tanks, those are anatomical drawings Sideswipe. I don’t know what he was trying to do to show himself as less qualified but he has a way of looking through a patient, I saw him do it during the simulation with Roller. He has talent I’ve never seen, he’s inventive, quick on his pedes, and I need him in my Medbay as much as you want him away from combat.”

Sideswipe shook his head. 

“You don’t get it. He does that, he _learned_ how to do that to make his repairs as short as possible for a reason.”

“Why would he -“

“Just imagine the kind of injuries Sunny’s been exposed to over the vorns. The kind of pain in their fields as he tries frantically to stick them back together while being timed with limited resources. And for _what_? Because he’s smart? Because he has fragging _aptitude_. Because it was his _purpose_.”

Sideswipe's field flared along with his fury, and he lowered his helm to look down at his pedes as if embarrassed by his outburst.

“That’s why you’ll never feel even a hint of his field, he doesn’t dare reach out with it. He can't stand fields and servos touching him. He never had a choice. He became cold to protect himself -“ Sideswipe circled an invisible pattern on the floor with his left ped. A hesitant smile that wasn’t fake at all ghosted over his faceplate, and Sideswipe made his final strike, “Then he met me.”

The silence rang in his audials, barely a vent from those in the room with only the soft hum of operating systems. He counted to six just because then continued.

“Like I said, I’m a fighter. Sunny’s rumbles and grumbles never scared me.” In his spark, he could feel his beautiful Sunny still preparing to leave, clutching onto their bond oh so tight like he had all those vorns ago when it use to dissipate between them.

Terrified, that Sideswipe would leave him, and he’d be alone, skirting the edges of only half a life.

Inspired, Sideswipe syphoned the feeling of that loss of their precious connection in those moments into his field.

“Please.” He let a wince form on his face, “Don’t make him relive that. Please. Let him stay with me? We made a promise, that we’d offline together. He wants to be a fighter too.”

Counting out two rotations of his spark, Sideswipe glanced up at his audience. 

Ratchet was staring at him with his mouth wide open, Ironhide wasn’t meeting his gaze at all and was staring at his servos folded on his lap. Wheeljack’s helm fins flashed a soft blue in sympathy along with his field. Jazz’s visor light had lost some of its edge, Prowl had lowered his door wingies with a pained edge of confusion on his face, and Red Alert was pretending to be busy with a datapad. 

But the _Prime_. 

That was the one Sideswipe truly needed. 

It didn’t take long in his evening discussions with Autobots for Sideswipe to figure out that the Autobots’ Prime held some reverent significance in a way that Megatron didn’t to majority of his troops. 

The Prime looked defeated, like a heavy weight hung on him as he looked back at Sideswipe, rubbing his own servo over his spark like Sideswipe’s carrier use to -

And Sideswipe sent a ping pattern of victory to Sunstreaker calling the match.

“Just, tell me you’ll consider it Prime sir?” Sideswipe asked softly of Prime, giving him the illusion that he was the one in control of the decision. Turning with his head held dejectedly low, Sideswipe made his way toward the exit. 

He made it two steps before Prime spoke, welding Sideswipe in place.

Because he didn’t follow Sideswipe’s script at all.

“After you read the Autobot Code. Why did you not simply tell us that the two of you are spark-bonded.” Prime’s voice was soft and tinged in pain, but Sideswipe’s spark started to spin in an uncontrolled panic.

Unable to keep the sudden spike of terror from his field, he wrangled it in tight, fighting the phantom feeling of a third disjointing wire and a cold ordered presence from entering his spark. The magnetic locks around his special spark engaged with a hiss-clunk. Sunstreaker, reaching through their bond asking what the frag had happened and that he was coming.

And Sideswipe outright lied as he half turned around.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We’re just friends, Pit pals. Sometimes we cuddle.” It was weak and he knew it. All he could manage was to flick out his lucky credit from the subspace pocket close to his left wrist, and worry it through his digits. He just had to stall until Sunny got here. If they opened the bond wide they could sync, take them by surprise -

Escape. Hide. They needed to hide.

“Naw, mech. I know what I saw.” Jazz leaned forward from his position sitting backwards on a chair and rested his chin in his servos - 

_no please, leave my special spark alone._

//Sunny…// he whined in terror.

//They won’t touch your special spark, I’ll rip every fragging one of them apart if they try. You know I will.// He was so grateful Sunstreaker had made sure he didn’t sound like _him_ in his own panic because Sideswipe didn’t think he could handle that right now and -

“When I watched Sunstreaker replace your ankle joint, I left as soon as I realized you two sweet sparks were starting a merge. Promise I didn’t watch.” Visor flashing at him, Jazz gave him a cheeky smile, his field flashing in friendly amusement. 

He thought this was funny? Sunny was right. 

Autobots were monsters.

“You didn’t see right.” Sideswipe denied sharply as he turned around completely to face them, then took a slow step back. “Sparks are private. Mecha don’t share their sparks.” 

Stalling, they clung to each other through the bond, and Sideswipe’s cortex raced. 

What the frag was a sweet spark? Were they sweet sparks? What idiot would lick a spark to find out? 

He took another step back toward the door, Sunstreaker was closing the distance between them.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of.” Prime assured, his field reaching out comfortingly and Sideswipe’s processor froze in confusion. Urgently he pinged Sunny to hold off as he approached the other side if the door. “It is perfectly natural for two or more mecha to wish to form such a deep emotional connection between their sparks.”

Sideswipe couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping open as he tucked his lucky credit back into his hidden subspace pocket.

They were normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally let this chapter stop intimidating me with its dialogue.
> 
> And I'll just let your shrieks of agony that I cut the chapter in half here ring through my ears while I poke at the rest.
> 
> Have the song I've been listening to when I think of Prowl's plot, and Sunstreaker in this scene. [Delain - Danse Macabre](https://youtu.be/E7NxotzC1Mw)
> 
> Then we have Sideswipe in this scene...and he's not done yet. [Icon for Hire - Make a Move](https://youtu.be/e_S9VvJM1PI)


	28. One Unit, One Force

Sideswipe stood alone under bright lights, his EM field clamped tight to his frame as everything he understood crumbled around him.

Again.

Along his bond from his special spark - his “perfectly natural and normal” bond - he could feel Sunny’s questions; his anxiety, his frustration, his pain. 

Sunny. 

_His_ Sunny; his Sunstreaker to his Sideswipe…was pacing.

Sideswipe could _feel it_ with every fraction of a rotation of his spark. He was trying not to stand still. He was trying not to blast in the door. He was waiting for Sideswipe to take the lead and initiate a sync. He was waiting for Sideswipe to explain. 

Because Sideswipe always explained. Mostly. 

But Sideswipe couldn’t. He couldn’t explain what was going on. He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t move backward. He always _moved_. Sunny was the one who always went still. Sideswipe always had a joke, or a response even as bits of himself were sliced from his frame.

Even when he should keep his mouth shut. 

Now, all Sideswipe could manage was to simultaneously stare at the Prime and pace behind the door while his spark ached for a merge.

His words. He had lost his words. He always had his words. Where did they go?

“Sideswipe,” The Prime started slowly, “You do know that we do not see spark bonds as a weakness, do you not?”

The Prime’s field extended further but Sideswipe darted his away, and clamped it down tight around his spark. His plating pulled tighter against his frame in case it began to rattle. 

“What?” Ratchet’s voice snapped Sideswipe’s frozen stare from the Prime toward him. “You think I would miss that the two of you have a spark bond? It’s obvious by the way you look at each other.”

“Conjunx endura have often been split up in their deployment,” The Prime added, “But you are certainly permitted to request to stay together.” 

A new phrase. His cortex absorbed it, but he couldn’t twist it and spit it back out.

“Without a medical reason, or question of competence, that request will not be denied.” Ratchet was scowling, and glaring toward Sideswipe’s chestplate like Sunny did when he looked through mecha to draw all their bits and pieces. “Did you think us that cruel?”

 _Sunny thought you were going to take his helm_ , the words that managed to form in his processor sound small and afraid. A little remnant of who Sideswipe had been, once upon a time.

Yet Ratchet sounded angry.

Hadn’t he just told Sunny that Ratchet often sounded angry when he cared? Why then was his scowl prickling at Sideswipe to keep his spark locked down if they were normal? 

“I’ve got a conjunx,” Ironhide spoke up next, and Sideswipe snapped his focus to him as he forced his mouth shut, “Fiercest most stunning spark you’ll ever meet, but we filed for separate deployment and designated seconds and thirds for if one of us falls. We don’t want to become a liability on the field mid battle.” 

“It is all detailed in the Autobot Code.” Prowl added, optics narrowed, “What did you think I’ve been trying to talk to you about for three cycles?”

“The two of you aren’t exactly subtle, considering what you did to the washracks.” Wheeljack’s helm fins flashed orange yet Sideswipe didn’t know what - 

A holographic image of himself and Sunstreaker in the doorway to the washracks, appeared abruptly in the center of the table. Their helms were pressed together, staring deep into each other’s optics, as Sunny melted against Sideswipe’s touch. Red Alert simply tilted his helm to the side slightly while glaring hard at Sideswipe through the scene, in challenge.

Sideswipe reset his vocalizer. The rushing fluid sound of his racing fuel pump blotted out what Red Alert stated. He kept staring at that image of the two of them…they looked…they looked like…the paintings they had drawn together in sync in Vos…is that what conjunx endura looked like? 

They all stared at him, waiting for Sideswipe to say something. Waiting for Sideswipe to confirm it, or deny it while Sunny’s figurative spark digits flicked and poked questioning pings at his spark.

They were saying words. Their mouths were moving but there were no words. Only questions.

Questions. So many questions formed in his processor.

Was Sunny Sideswipe’s fierce and stunning spark to his special spark? That felt right. Did that make Sunny’s spark sweet and soft, or was it an either or thingie?

Questions. _Normal_ questions? How could he know? If they were normal, did that make his questions normal by default? Was that Sunny logic or was that Sideswipe illogical logic?

Did it even matter whose questions were whose when their emotions bled into each other through their sparks? When they only felt whole and true joy when they were together working in harmony? Was it normal that they ached constantly to merge their sparks and lose themselves in each other and become another force entirely? How could Ironhide stand being separated from his conjunx if what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker felt for each other was normal?

He wanted to ask. He ached to ask all his questions. He had always been full of questions, he had so many. But every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out. It was as if all his questions were stuck inside him as long as he held his field and plating tight.

“Look,” Sideswipe looked at Jazz as if his helm was attached to a string. “I’ve been biting my glossa for decacycles now waiting to ask if you have some information on something I ain’t never solved. I’ve heard rumors of bonded mecha are goin’ missing among the Decepticon ranks, but only spark bonded duos." 

Icy fear began to fill his lines starting from deep within his spark. A phantom cold, and ordered presence wrapped tendrils around him from _inside_ him. Lead and guided there by -

Simultaneously he pulled away and clung closer to Sunny along their bond. Jazz’s word spiraled in his cortex: only spark bonded duos.

_He_ was still looking for them. _He_ was still after Sideswipe’s special spark. _He_ wanted to strap Sideswipe down and tell his Sunny too -

Tell his Sunny too -

Would Sunny still -

Jazz cleared his vocalizer, and only then did Sideswipe realize he had been staring where Sunstreaker was now standing still, staring back and waiting for instruction on the other side of the door.

“You got any inkling as to why someone in the Decepticon science division is experimenting on pair-bonded sparks?”

Jazz was like Sideswipe. He had found a weak spot in Sideswipe’s reaction and he was digging. 

Sideswipe _knew_ that.

Yet…Sideswipe was at a loss of how to start another story so -

He gave a hesitant nod.

He was intimately aware of who that someone was who attached wires between a pair of sparks. A shiver shooting down his backstrut, Sideswipe looked to Prowl in solidarity. Slowly unfurling his field, he reached out toward him as he answered Jazz.

“Have you - “ He paused and reset his vocalizer, “Have you heard of a mech named S-Shockwave?” 

When his vocalizer wavered, Optimus and Ratchet’s fields met the edges of his, reaching out in mournful sympathy, and he pulsed the feeling to Sunny. Both Optimus and Ratchet were grimacing and sharing a look between them as if in pain. Perhaps…

Perhaps they should have joined the Autobots long ago despite Sunny’s protests and insistence Autobots were monsters. Sunny believed that because Autobots were _Shockwave’s_ monsters but…shouldn’t that make Autobots Sideswipe’s heroes?

The monsters of Sideswipe’s villain should be his greatest allies, at the very least a strong shield and buffer zone.

Sunny pinged back a frustrated question at the feelings emanating along their bond, and Sideswipe savored how _normal_ it felt to have Sunny pinging around in his spark. Even his frustrated pings, when paired with those fields, chased the phantom cold presence away. It had always just felt right to Sideswipe, _normal_ to have his Sunny in his spark, even when he had tried to shove his little Sunstreaker wire mech inside for safe keeping.

But Carrier, always said it was wrong, and Sideswipe didn’t like to talk to Sunny about things that happened in too bright, too clean rooms that Sideswipe would rather not remember. 

Biting his lower lip, optics scanning each and every Autobot in the room, Sideswipe mingled his field a little more toward the Prime in a tentative trust.

“We have encountered a number of Shockwave’s creations over the vorns,” Prowl sat ram rod straight, his pile of datapads stacked in perfect order and staring at Sideswipe as if he could read his cortex. 

Sideswipe’s spark leapt with sudden hope at Prowl’s words, and he reached for Sunny along their bond.

“I’ve met one too.” Sideswipe offered. Blowing their bond open wide, he blared their promise of a future here in an attempt to entice him into sync to introduce him.

The Prime’s field was like nothing Sideswipe had ever felt before. Powerful, strong, yet warm, comforting, and welcoming. Maybe the Autobots had found others, taken them in, and there were others like Sunny here and they could finally be-

“Shockwave creates spark _abominations_.” Prowl’s voice rumbled deep in his engine. “Terminating them is difficult.” 

Field snapping and flitting back to the edges of the others like a cut rubber tube, the sudden sharp acid flash of Prowl’s field searing against his sent Sideswipe’s cortex reeling. Simultaneously, unseen, Sideswipe sent a burst of love and support straight to his Sunny’s spark before narrowing their bond back down and warning him to stay in the hallway. Even though Sunny didn’t hear Prowl, Sideswipe wanted him to know he was dearly loved, treasured, and very much welcome attached forever to Sideswipe’s special spark. 

Hardening his jaw, Sideswipe stared back at Prowl while he imagined himself becoming as immovable and impenetrable as Trailbreaker’s forcefield.

Sunstreaker wasn’t an abomination. 

Sunstreaker was the greatest hero to have ever heroed across all of Cybertron, and Sideswipe would prove it. 

Sideswipe certainly wouldn’t stand by and allow Autobots to _terminate_ his Sunny. 

Just like heroes in his stories Sideswipe would shroud his Sunny in an cloak of mystery, the Autobot’s could never know where Sunny came from. He wouldn’t let Sunny ever hear what Prowl said. He’d take it personally and try to hide deep in his spark from Sideswipe - 

A knot twisted in his fuel tank, Sunny might even block him out and go cold.

Sideswipe could hold this secret for him, and spare him that pain.

“Are you aware of the nature of Shockwave’s experiments on bonded mecha?” Prime asked gently and extended his field again. He had misinterpreted Sideswipe’s flare of recognition in his field at Prowl’s phrasing, and his prolonged silence.

Darting his field away and keeping it only flicking at the edges, Sideswipe hardened his spark as he locked his optics onto the Prime. Now that he was protecting his Sunny, words virtually poured out of his special spark and into his vocalizer. 

And Sideswipe spun another tale tinged in truth; he didn’t even try to control his lashing field.

“One optic purple freak is a monster.” Relishing the flinches from his abrupt change in his field, colliding against their own like a thousand knives, he stalked up to the center table, “We’ve made it our main goal to stay far away from him. Like you said, conjunx endurases pair-bonded sparks started to disappear from Decepticon ranks, and we weren’t going to be next.”

Leaning hard on the table he made sure to hold optic contact with each and every Autobot present. Channeling all the times he had given his all, struggling and fighting with his field against Shockwave as he was dragged down a bright corridor in vain: he scraped, dragged, and clawed his EM field against theirs. Forcing them to lean away from him, he let acid rage flow unchecked through every part of his being while praising his Sunny’s rapt attention to his emotions over their bond.

“We fled before we were discovered. We go back, he finds out about us, and we are as good as dead and that’s a fact. Never really cared much for the party line anyway, just kinda fell into it. One cycle Megatron was a gladiator like us, next there were purple face thingies all over the place.” 

Flaring his plating, Sideswipe let all his feelings toward Shockwave boil across the surface of his posture and field. His digits creaked under the strain of clamping them onto the edge of the table as he stared straight at Prowl.

“You listen here because I’m only going to tell this story once. Sunny is mine down to my deepest spark, for now and always. From the first moment he tried to smile at me I knew he was the fiercest, most stunning creation with the sweetest spark to ever walk the halls. As far as we know that slag sucker Shockwave doesn’t know about us and we’re going to keep it that way. I have no clue what exactly that creepy fragger is after but he’s not getting it from us. Not now. Not ever.”

“So ya are running from ol’shocky.” Any humor had left Jazz’s face, “Nice of ya to stop pretending so we can talk like adult mechs.”

This was close. Much too close, yet Sideswipe’s fuel pump rhythm was even.

“Oh ho,” Sideswipe let out a dark mockery of a chuckle, “You want to stop pretending do you? You think it’s slagging funny to watch us jump through your pathetic hoops?”

“Sideswipe is that what you think -“

“Yea we’re running.” Sideswipe cut Ratchet off, “We’ve been running since Shockwave pointed his creepy fragging optic toward my Sunny. We’ve been trying to live our fragging lives together and your fragging war has taken all the slagging fuel. You have all left my brilliant Cybertron a figment of what it could be.”

The Prime’s field flinched back and Sideswipe dug deep at a weakness as he hummed at Sunstreaker over their bond.

“My Sunny and me have been to the Pits and back and you Autobots with your assessments and secret tests are stressing my Sunny out. He’s upset and I hate it when my Sunny gets upset - being spark-bonded conjunx endura and all.”

Testing the new term, he checked to see if he was using it correctly as he flit around the edges of their fields. No objections, no scoffs and he narrowed all his focus toward the Autobot’s leader.

“So let’s do what Jazz suggests. Let’s stop pretending this is anything more than what it is, Prime sir.” A tight grin formed on Sideswipe’s face, “You need us, and we need all those resources you are hoarding behind every door Sunny and me open at night. It’s become abundantly clear you don’t know the first thing about how to place us properly, because while you’ve been assessing us, we’ve been assessing you.”

Flicking out his rusted dagger he balanced it on a digit tip and smiled wide as the Autobot command fell into disarray. Calls of traitor and spies emanated from Red Alert but that was hardly a surprise or a challenge. Ironhide stood and took up a guard position on the Prime, Ratchet and Wheeljack were calling for reason and the Prime called for order.

“You’ve got a lot of blind spots _my mechs_.” Sideswipe shuttered an optic in a wink to Prowl and Jazz coiling and staring back at him, just because he could.

He slagging had them moving as sure as they were his little wire mechs following his every command…while he stalled and grasped for pieces of a plan forming in his cortex. 

//Sunny, I’m gambling here, please tell me you’ve started drawing out some Jet Judo solutions in all those beautiful what-iffies of yours?//

//Only a few.// Sideswipe’s spark soared, a few meant at least twenty knowing his Sunny, //What are you plotting? You are all over the place along our bond.//

//I need you to go get Bluestreak.//

//He’s already here. He saw me run and knock Autobots aside when I felt your distress.//

//Good.//

//We’re leaving. Do we have time to gather -// 

//Oh no my dear Sunny, we are staying.// Sideswipe pulsed his ironclad confidence over their bond, //But I’m changing the rules to ones we understand. Once you hear my dagger hit the door, I need you and our lucky door wingies standing by my side.//

“Know this.” Tossing the dagger up into the air, he caught it by the blade until they descended into silence. “We’ll be your loyal Autobots, you point us in a direction and we’ll go, but you start asking questions about fragging Shockwave to my Sunny - even a hint of a whisper of it from your little space shrink - I start making things explode.”

“Ya manipulative fragger.” Ironhide cursed, and Sideswipe shrugged.

“Truth hurts. _Ya’ll_ wanted ‘onest.” Sideswipe delivered with an identical cant to Ironhide’s speech pattern, causing the mech to sputter, “I won’t if I don’t have to. Sunny likes rules remember? I however…like making my own.” 

“Ironhide.” The Prime’s voice held a harder edge but he placed a softer servo on his weapon’s master forearm, “Sit back down, Sideswipe won’t kill me with a rusted dagger. If he wanted to kill us he would have launched that new shoulder mounted rocket you issued him.”

Sideswipe couldn’t help but smirk toward Ironhide as Prime brought the room back into order. Folding his servos in front of himself, the Prime sat tall.

“What is it that you want Sideswipe?”

“Here’s Rule Number One To Keep Sideswipe From Exploding Slag All Over You Base. Never. I mean _never_ mention Shockwave to my Sunny. They’ve crossed paths in the past and you saw him when that purple monster’s image came up on the table! His servo was shaking! My Sunny’s spark is as hard as they come but Shockwave fragging terrifies him. He never learns what we just talked about you hear me?”

“Sideswipe -“

“No.” Sideswipe turned his helm and lashed out with his field hard toward Ratchet, “Especially you Ratchet. Leave him alone. If I find out any of you mentioned what I told you to Sunny you’ll find I’m quite good at skirting the lines of what is _technically_ allowed and I am fully capable of making your life miserable.”

When Red Alert started to say something Sideswipe cut him off too. “I will do a lot more than push all your buttons for fun, _Twinnie_. I’ll drive you all fragging insane, and I promise, if you push me on this when it comes to that one optic purple monster and my Sunny, there will be collateral damage.”

“That is not -“ Sideswipe cut Ironhide off with a sharp flare in his direction, a harsh rev of his engine, and dead serious look at Prime with an accompanying pulse to his field.

“I want the Prime’s word. We took your oath now you take mine. Swear it, or we take our chances of survival back out there.” Leaning forward Sideswipe lowered his voice to a timber that once rattled his spinal strut when he heard it, and lowered the luminosity of his optical sensors to a deep storming blue, “And you pray we never see another red or purple insignia cross our path if one of us offlines without the other. I am slagging done letting your fragging factions and purposes interfere with the life Sunny and me just want to live together.”

They all sat there staring at him with various degrees of stunned shock. He didn’t know what they were thinking, and he didn’t care if he had just stepped out of their lines. For this: to protect his Sunny, to keep him hidden away, there was no line he wouldn’t cross.

“You have my word that none of us will bring this obviously painful matter up with Sunstreaker.” The Prime inclined his head toward Sideswipe in a nod and Sideswipe gave one in return. Ironhide and Prowl opened their mouths to protest but Optimus held up his servo calling for silence. “That was rule number one Sideswipe, do you have a rule number two you wish to ask of me?”

“As a matter of fact I do. You keep fumbling and bumbling around Sunny. He needs a commander who can calculate innovative solutions and execute them clearly, precisely, and won’t jerk him around.”

The Prime nodded toward Prowl, “I believe under Prowl’s command the two of you -“

“Rule Number Two:” Whirling around, Sideswipe threw the dagger so it lodged in the door with a slight thud at the same time he pinged Sunny over their bond. As Sideswipe turned back to face the gathered members of the Autobot Command, he drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms. Savoring the return of their stunned looks, he heard the doors behind him part open and the vibration of heavy stomping pede steps drown out the lighter steps drawing closer. 

“As I said, I’ve been doing some poking around, and assessments of my own.” Prowl’s door wingies spiked high and flared, and Sideswipe smirked toward him to see him looking over to his right. “You Autobots don’t have much of an aerial offensive team do you? In the Decepticons you can barely vent without running into winged mecha. Now correct me if I’m wrong but that’s a problem you need solving.”

Impeccable golden plating gleamed in the lights to his left, and the colour of death itself took up position to Sideswipe’s right. 

He had heard the expression that silence could be cut with a knife, and in Sideswipe’s experience his rusted knife from the Acid Wastes seemed to have the effect on those around him. Taking in the stunned expressions, Sideswipe flit around at the edges of their fields. 

In perfect mirror to the front gate of the Autobot base: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bluestreak stood in a line of identical postures, and Sideswipe’s spark vibrated in excitement to his Sunny where no one else could see. 

Before the assembled members of the Autobot Command, flanked by a skeptical Sunstreaker and a confused but amicable Bluestreak, Sideswipe made his biggest gamble yet.

“Prime sir, I seem to have been amiss with my proper introductions.” Outwardly, Sideswipe stood tall and impassive as he dropped his arms and linked his servos behind his back, “The mechs who stand before you were tempered in the spires of the highest reaches of Vos, the darkest pits of Kaon, and the shattered remnants of the Crystal Gardens of Praxus. We hail from everywhere and no where. We are the nameless who refuse to be forgotten. We bring death, vengeance, and a promise of a future to your door.”

Jazz’s visor flared at Sideswipe’s further change in speech pattern as he switched to his Vosian accent, and along his bond to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe snickered in secret. 

Sideswipe’s declaration had rendered everyone in the room speechless.

Except one.

//You are such fragging idiot, this is never going to work.//

In response Sideswipe pulsed his confidence over their bond.

Because this new plan felt right, down to the deepest parts of Sideswipe’s spark. Ever since _Vos_ where they did Sunny’s mobility routines in sync; flipping, twirling, and balancing on their servos together on the narrow edges of crumbling spires, ever since he rode that seeker over a building with Sunny cursing in his spark -

Sideswipe just knew he belonged in the sky with his Sunny at his side.

Staring straight out into the unknown response to his finishing move, Sideswipe could only feel a determined thrill as he initiated a new storming beat along their bond of a promise of their life together and always. It was just the beginning, and one day his Sunny would add his bit, but Sideswipe was simultaneously patient and impatient with his Sunny in the only logical illogical way he knew best to protect and hide him.

And as Sideswipe stared back at the Prime’s unsettling powerful gaze, he shared none of the nervous terror and uncertainty Sunny was projecting along their bond. All his little wire mechs in his subspace strengthened his resolve. All their nameless names, all their stories of their lives, fragments and pieces of Cybertron they had given to him to learn and hold he projected in his field toward all those gathered around. Thousands of mecha had once looked to him to give them that sliver of freedom and control in their final moments of life, when like him, they had had no control. 

In this moment, as the Autobots scraped too close to the uncomfortable and terrifying truth, Sideswipe just knew in his spark he was done letting others define what he and Sunstreaker were to each other and control their destiny. 

He swore the Prime could see that ironclad resolve form in his optics, and feel it in his field.

Sideswipe had after all, stared straight into the impassive optic of a much more terrifying mech than a _Prime_ , and greater mecha than him had perished beneath it.

He’d even managed to bite that monster once, and lived to tell the tale to any who knew how to listen to the finer underlying threat of his bass beat that shadowed his every movement.

Stepping slightly forward Sideswipe hammered his fist down over his chestplate in a resonating rhythm of three that echoed and rolled into one in the silence.

In a manner he had not used since his younglinghood in play, Sideswipe inclined his helm toward the Prime, just so, as Mischief had taught him. When he had introduced his new seeker neighbour to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, that seeker had declared Bitlet and them trine, sharing what he thought was a covert glance with Carrier over his helm and wishing them all strong winds to guide their path home to Cybertron.

“Three of us, stand together before you as one. One unit, one force.” Repeating the percussive action of fist to chestplate three times, a bass beat of three to one rang through his spark. “ _This_ is what it means to be trine. Autobot Command, say hello to your Jet Judo Aerial Response Team.”

A massive smile stretched Sideswipe’s face as he saw Prowl’s stoic resolve crumble with his sagging door wingies and flickering optics, and Ratchet’s speechless open mouth gape. Jazz’s reaching field probed then drew back in uncertainty while Sideswipe proudly displayed his manners Carrier had taught him. The manners the original Mischief had been delighted to see from a scratched and scuffed silver youngling behind bars in always too clean and too bright little room. 

“Hello Optimus Prime.” With each word, Sideswipe switched from the countless accents and mannerisms he had been surrounded with during his development, stepping in and out of character with each of his little wire mechs as his guides. “Strong winds of the past have whispered your name and guided me to you from my home. I carry the memories of all those now past. They guide my every step as I look to the future.”

The Prime met Sideswipe’s stare, but Sideswipe could tell by his field and the tension in his servo the Prime’s spark was hurting. Tapping three pings against Bluestreak with his field, and Sunstreaker with his spark, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stepped forward in unison with a resonant stomp, and Bluestreak wasn’t far behind in step.

“I am your new Air Commander: Sideswipe of Cybertron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe's theme in this scene: [Icon for Hire - Theatre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qV1CeCVDLTQ%20)
> 
> Prowl: *Flips desk to hide from your screams and attacks at him for sticking his pede in his mouth and shutting Sideswipe's tentative trust down*


	29. The Winds of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Blinks blearily at you.* Update? What day is it? There is no time in this place.
> 
> I may have been spinning my wheels forever on this chapter, tangled sorting my plot threads if it wasn't for AristotleBlinked and Atsadi reaching out to save me from myself and my ambition with this story. I'm not certain I have enough words in my vocabulary to properly thank you, so instead I will apologize Sunstreaker style and... "correct my errors" you highlight, in gratitude.

Sideswipe’s trine’s resonating stomp of three acting as one, echoed in the stunned wake of Sideswipe’s confident declaration.

He counted out another three beats of his spark, because it seemed like the thing to do, before he broke the silence. 

“Who challenges my mastery of the sky?” 

His voice shot through their uncomfortable air, and he visualized his field to become a solid sphere. An unyielding shield of strength, sweeping up and protecting him and Sunny both.

He felt other fields extend toward him and his. He smirked at Sunny across their bond. 

Let them probe. They wouldn’t find a slagging thing but Sideswipe’s ironclad confidence of will, and someone much more interesting to study and pay attention to than his Sunny.

Prowl’s face slackened, optics flickering as they roved from Bluestreak to Sideswipe to Sunstreaker and back to Bluestreak. All the members of the Autobot command gathered in the room stared back as Sideswipe did what he did best.

He smiled.

It started small, then tugged up on one side. Confident. Arrogant. 

Perfect.

//You fragger. You made Prowl get stuck in a feedback loop with your idiotic plan. He’s the control monitor for my -//

//Forget Prowl, we don’t need him.// Sideswipe snapped, pinging an acid tone of warning.

//Since when?// Sunny pinged his confusion, irritation starting to rise. //Stop changing -//

//Since now.// The pulse of emotions Sideswipe sent over their bond mirrored his field. There was no room for discussion on this. Sunny probed once then reluctantly pinged the completion to the leading pattern Sideswipe sent. 

“Too presumptuous?” Sideswipe shuttered an optic in a wink to the Prime. “I know we’re still getting to know each other and all, but I noticed you had a vacancy that needed filling.”

Red Alert was the first to balk by slamming his datapad down on the table.

“What did I tell you? Spies.” His accusing optics glowered at Jazz as sparks practically shot from his strobing audial horns. “ _You_! You have invited spies into our midst.” 

Wheeljack’s helm fins flared from pink to purple as he continued to peer at Sideswipe with a raised optic ridge. 

“Air Commander?” Ironhide’s laugh boomed through the room, and he slapped his knee before he jabbed a digit on the table. “Now you listen up you punk aft -“

“Bah,” Ratchet scoffed and waved his servo dismissively through the air. “You don’t even have flight modes. What do you know of the Rites of Trunity?”

Meanwhile Bluestreak’s door wingies dropped a fraction as he looked between Prowl and Jazz. Jazz nudged his elbow against Prowl's arm, his visor locked on Sideswipe. Prowl’s optics stopped cycling at Jazz’s touch. His door wingies were high and rigid, his jaw clenched almost as tight as Sunny’s. His field was _livid_ , boring his focus at Bluestreak. Bluestreak’s field flared out once in uncertainty then pulled in tight along with his plating. 

Trying to entice Bluestreak’s field back outwards, Sideswipe started flicking a steadying pulse pattern around its edges. Bluestreak’s door wingies shot up in perfect mirror to Prowl’s, meeting his challenging stare with one of his own. When Sunstreaker’s arms crossed tight across his chestplate, Bluestreak’s weren’t far behind. 

//They’re laughing.// Sunstreaker pinged his irritation. //I told you -//

//Don’t focus on the ones who are laughing Sunny. The Prime’s not.// The Prime’s servo rested on his chestplate. Any levity or softness had left his features as he looked back at Sideswipe. //If you need someone to look at, look at him. Ignore everyone else, and don’t worry about smiling. Your rumbles and grumbles are perfect.//

//Whatever.// The nervous attempt at a smile that was more of a sneer dropped from Sunny’s face. His engine idled into a low rumble.

//Just wait for it, negotiations have only just begun.// In thanks for playing along, despite his mounting irritation, Sideswipe tossed a love ball at his Sunny.

“Have you nothing to say Optimus Prime?” Sideswipe ignored their mockery and accusations, spoke over them as if they didn't exist. “Or have the memories of the winds that once were stolen the words from your vocalizer?”

//You are so full of slag.//

//Hush you. Concentrating now. Sass later. What does it say in the Autobot Code about the Prime?//

//Their Prime is the highest rank in their now-militarist government. The Senate used to advise him when they pretended to have elected officials. There is some stupid fake-metaphysics riddled with errors about his appointment by a device known as the Matrix of Leadership. It’s said to be fused to his spark. They claim it’s an appointment of Primus, but he doesn’t exist, so the Senate -//

//But _they_ believe it?// 

//You’d know better than me,// Sunstreaker grumbled.

Sideswipe pinged his thanks. Even if Sunny’s explanation sounded more like that jerk Megatron’s words and the fragging purple monster’s stories than the Autobot Code. It would have to do. Taking the words and reading Prime’s expression, Sideswipe twisted them into his narrative.

“Leadership and the deaths of your people weigh heavy on your spark.” The Prime’s servo dropped from his chestplate. Sideswipe softened his face and his tone in order to make a connection, one leader to another. “I was raised in the light for the servo of Primus to guide my steps- an enlightened beacon of hope. I know the signs.”

//You and your fragging biolights.//

//Shhhhhhh.//

It was mostly true after all. Sideswipe _had_ been raised under always bright lights. He had been skeptical though, about the truth of Carrier’s story about Primus, the First Light. How could there be a first light when the lights just simply were?

The Prime leaned forward, servos clasped in front of him on the table. When he narrowed his optics, Sideswipe resisted shuffling back and forth on his pedes. Prime’s field had become heavy, all his playfulness after Sideswipe’s show of piracy now replaced with unbending, self-assured authority. The feel of it was familiar and Sideswipe resisted flaring his armor to meet the challenge head-on. A direct assault would only leave him looking the fool. That kind of field… reeked of hints of Megatron. 

And Sideswipe had never managed to overpower _him_ , let alone even nudge him a fraction off course. 

A direct assault was suicide. He waited for Prime to make the next move.

Optimus Prime’s probing gaze lingered on Bluestreak, then shifted to Sunstreaker. Sideswipe controlled the bristle of his rising plating as the Prime brushed his field gently in his Sunny’s direction. Sunstreaker stared back at the Prime as he had at the front gates, jaw clenched, with no attempt to soften the hard edges of his expression. Flicking out his field hard and quick, Sideswipe intercepted the Prime’s probe. 

_Mine._ His spark all but screamed like a short bursting electric snap into his field. 

The Prime didn’t so much as flinch, but his gaze centered in on Sideswipe.

“You claim knowledge of Primus’ will. Do you stand before me as pilgrim of Primus seeking to enact the Rites of Trunity?”

//What’s a pilgrim, Sunny?// All Sideswipe got was a silent shrug in return. 

“I claim no such knowledge.” Sideswipe ensured his answer held an ominous, mysterious tone. “Primus’ will is unknowable to all except the one who carries his appointment in his spark.” 

//Now you are just speaking nonsense.//

//But it sounded good, right?//

Begrudgingly, Sunstreaker agreed that it did. 

“So you come before me, as your military leader.” Prime demeanor changed slightly, his words became short and clipped. “Requesting a promotion to Commander straight out of basic training, Private?”

“ _Air_ Commander of Cybertron, for Cybertron.” Sideswipe specified. “I am no rookie fresh in the ring, or on the field of battle. I’ve been trained by all walks of life, all of my life, Sir.” Sideswipe matched the pacing of Prime’s words. “Though, perhaps the words of a unified Cybertron were hard to understand, coming from a single voice. Sir.”

“Watch your tone, Private.” Ironhide barked out, “This ain’t the Pits.” 

“Ironhide.” Prime’s rebuke was delivered with his optics never wavering from Sideswipe. The Weapons Master’s engine rumbled a low threat of final warning to Sideswipe for his indirect jab, and Sunstreaker rumbled his engine toward Ironhide to match. 

“You expect to be rewarded with a promotion - be given top level clearance - ” Prime paused and pressed his palms against the table. “Directly after you barged your way - _hacked_ \- into a meeting of High Command and requested, no, _demanded_ an oath from me to you?”

“Technically Sunny barged in.” The Prime’s optics narrowed further. Sideswipe grinned and tilted his helm to the side while recalling his manners. “I said we should knock, Sir.”

Optimus Prime pressed his servos down on the table and, with a powerful hydraulic hiss of engaging pistons, he rose from his chair. Sunstreaker’s engine went silent.

//Are you trying to get us killed, you idiot?// 

//Hold, Sunny. Just hold.//

“That is a court-martial offense, Private.” 

“So why aren’t we locked up in your rows of bright little rooms with energy bar doors?” Sideswipe mingled his field lightly around the edges of Prime’s, searching for hints of deception, and an opening.

“Do not confuse my extending basic courtesies of respect and compassion to you as a sign of weakness.” There was a flash of a sharp, bittersweet longing behind the layers of Prime’s field: hidden, but not from Sideswipe. “You are not the first gladiator from the Pits of Kaon to demand an oath from me.” 

Sideswipe’s spark screeched in a replay at the feel of Prime’s field. In an instant, he felt Sunny rise and take the emotional distress for himself. With Sunny offering his hardened drive and stoic, focused resolve in exchange for the shock, Sideswipe kept his ventilations measured and even during these high stakes negotiations. 

The Prime had spark pain broadcasting in his field. Not exactly like Carrier, but close. A weakness it churned Sideswipe’s tanks to poke at. He fled from it with his field while simultaneously filing it away into the cluttered, shifting noise of his processor. 

“You knew I’d demand an oath,” Sideswipe stalled as Sunny siphoned away the tank-churning emotions of his replay. The only visible sign that anything was amiss was Sunstreaker’s hardening of his jaw and need to flare out his plating. This trick between them worked to give the effect of Sunstreaker appearing like he was posturing aggressively, while maintaining Sideswipe’s ability to focus.

“I expected my claim to the Matrix of Leadership to be questioned.” Prime’s optics shifted toward Sunstreaker’s plating, still flared under the force of Sideswipe’s torrent of emotions. “Just not from you.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.” Sideswipe linked his servos behind the small of his back, drawing Prime’s focus away from his Sunny. “Prime-sir.”

Optimus Prime selected a datapad from in front of Red Alert. He paused to check something off of it for a moment, then slowly moved around the table toward Jazz.

“You aren’t a very subtle mech, Sideswipe.” Prime spoke to toward the datapad, only giving Sideswipe half of his attention like he wasn’t worth his time. “But you confound: you find opportunity in chaos, don’t you? You claim mastery of the sky yet you have no wings. You act the fool but when you strike -”

“Thunder echoes across the shores of the Rust Sea,” Sideswipe smirked as Optimus paused at his interruption with a quote from Carrier’s favourite story. The slight narrowing of Prime’s optics encouraged Sideswipe to continue: “There’s no harm in having fun when the winds rage. I was raised soaring above those same shores. Took Sunny there once on a mission of great importance. How was it, Sunny?”

“... Rusty.” 

//Of course you’d remember the rust,// Sideswipe huffed.

//Well, what did you want from me?//

//Windy! You were suppose to say windy! I’m applying for _Air_ Commander here, Sunny!//

//Well it was rusty _and_ windy, we got trapped by that blinding storm for five and a half decacycles. Ratchet cleaned rust granules out of your secondary exhaust port — I swear he glared at me like it was _my_ fault.//

“Only elite seekers are skilled, or debatably unhinged, enough to navigate those thermals,” Prowl stated, optics hard and door wingies rigid, “The natural composition of the canyons on either side generate a magnetic distortion rendering any internal navigation instruments useless. The air close to the surface heats and makes weather conditions unstable and unpredictable. Gale fronts create blinding clouds of rust granules. The dunes constantly shift. Charge builds and lightning forks out to any highest point.” Prowl pointed a digit at the table, “ _No one_ would raise a their youngling in those conditions.”

“Raised soaring above those shores, huh?” Jazz rested his chin in his servos while his visor flashed. “I’d love to hear how you did it with that jet pack.”

Through their accusations Sideswipe’s posture and field never wavered. Reaching into a subspace pocket on his backplate, next to his jetpack, his digits searched until they grasped what he sought.

“I wore goggles.” Sideswipe clipped out in a no-nonsense tone while staring straight at Jazz. A puff of fine rust swirled up from the optic shields Sideswipe plopped on the table top.

There was a moment of stunned confusion in the field’s around him at Sideswipe’s ridiculous response that was more or less the truth. Sunny was particular about safety after all.

Prime’s focus snapped from the rust covered, and scratched goggles Sideswipe had made, then considered Sideswipe’s expression for only an instant before he moved on.

“I am confident I speak for everyone in this room when I admit you have caught us off-guard with your declaration.” Prime stated curtly as he selected a datapad from the top of Prowl’s pile. “I can’t say I ever imagined a mech like yourself would know the Rites of Trunity and declare yourself Air Commander before a Prime. There are plenty of Autobots and Decepticons alike who would take offense at that.” 

“With all due respect, Sir,” Sideswipe mimicked a phrase he had heard. “I haven’t lived this long by worrying about offending no-one. I take on a mission, I don’t give up, I get the job done.”

“These missions of yours,” Prime paused to scroll through the screen of the datapad, and added a notation. “What precisely was your position within the Decepticon ranks?”

Sideswipe wanted to flare out his field in irritation. Prime wanted to talk about the Decepticons? Fine. Sideswipe could twist that to his advantage to land another strike.

“Well mostly me and Sunny did freelance work. Saving mecha in distress and all that. Didn’t spend a lotta time with the Decepticons, but when I was there I’m proud to say I commanded the best.” Not a beat was missed as Sideswipe nudged the conversation toward the setup of another blow. “You’d probably call them cannon fodder.”

“This is a waste of our time,” Red Alert protested as he glared at Sideswipe. “The both of them should be in the brig for insubordination, espionage, and hooked up to a cortical psy-”

“Red Alert!” Optimus Prime silenced the Security Director with a sharp tone, then looked up from his datapad. “Could you repeat that, Private Sideswipe?”

Sideswipe sent a pre-emptive count of a strike toward Sunstreaker.

“Cannon fodder. Food for powder. Plate piles. The greys.” Sideswipe tossed out the list of terms at them like grenades. “Lots and lots of waiting around and then lots of charging and screaming. You know the kind: legs blowing off, acrid clouds of chemicals clinging to the back of your intake, that particular feel of scorched plating burning through your vents, half your friend’s helm lands on your shoulder. How did a big red mech like me survive in something like that?”

“Skill does not account for more than half of the ability to survive on a front line offensive,” Prowl said. “A skilled commander -“

“Can not command the winds.” Sideswipe snapped out his carrier’s favourite expression for whenever Sideswipe-that-was had cried that it wasn’t fair. Prowl’s door wingies jerked and his focus flit toward Sideswipe’s rust covered goggles, but Sideswipe turned his iron gaze back toward Optimus Prime. “There are forces that rise from the core of Cybertron that cannot be controlled. The mountain does not bow to the howling wind, but it will be blown to dust—it only takes persistence and time. Thus the mountain transforms and is carried by the whims of the wind.”

Prime’s full attention was back on Sideswipe, the datapad in his servo lowered slightly and he couldn’t quite keep the surprise from his field. “You’ve read ‘The Winds of War’?” 

//Have you read it, Sunny?//

//No. Megatronus talked about it. It didn’t make sense.//

//So it’s a real book? That’s good to know.//

“I don’t simply read ‘The Winds of War’,” Sideswipe boldly declared, “I _live_ it. My life has always belonged to the whims of the wind! When communications fail, the cannon fodder is left on their own. _I_ commanded them. Me. I filled the cycles of boredom, and guided their thoughts away from the dismal future. I adapted to the slightest change in the winds and swept them up to aim at the weakest points. We fought and we advanced. Not one of the High Command noticed when we came limping back to the transports, but you bet your Primely aft I made myself friends among the forgotten every time. Megatron fancied it up; called us his Forlorn Hope. You’d call us Frontliners, but I know what we’ve always been in your simulations: The _disposables_.”

The snapping flare of Ratchet’s field was barely an annoyance. “No one is disposable,” the medic bit out, but Sideswipe gave a bitter, honest laugh and turned away.

“If you do not intend to complete the Rites of Trunity,” Prime flit his attention briefly from the look being shared between Bluestreak to Prowl. “Where exactly does your interest in Bluestreak lay?”

//Finally,// Sideswipe huffed in exasperation over their bond. //Time to sparkle and shine like the sun. Bring me up one of your drawings.//

Simultaneously, Sideswipe answered Prime’s question aloud: “No offense to Prowl, I’m certain he’s a brilliant commander and all, but what do any of you know about the whims of the wind and how it applies to Jet Judo?” 

Motioning toward the table with his head was all the visual direction Sideswipe gave. Sunstreaker stepped forward and drew out his beloved datapad from his subspace. Jacking it into the table, he brought up one of his Jet Judo what-if maneuvers.

“How will you make strategies for something you don’t understand?” Sideswipe pointed directly to a complicated flightpath of seekers he didn’t understand. “Not understanding why Bluestreak is critical to establishing your Jet Judo Aerial Response Team only further shows you don’t understand it at all.”

The Prime looked from the flight paths Sunny had drawn with tiny copies of themselves on the backs of seekers, his optics widened slightly when he stared back at Sideswipe. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. Jet Judo is half art, half instinct, and half skill!” Sideswipe counted out on his fingers. “That’s three halves that add up to one unit. It’s why seekers always come in threes.”

“That’s a load of slag,” Ratchet and Jazz said in unison.

Sideswipe crossed his arms and smirked as if he knew all the mysteries on Cybertron, to cover his internal falter.

//Sunny, give them something better than my words, because I just want to blurt out “lucky door wingies.” Make it sound technical, windy, and sciency - but not too sciency.//

//What the frag does that even mean?//

//Just… explain why you like Bluestreak.//

Sunstreaker scrolled to a folder on his datapad and tapped it with his stylus. The holographic display lit up as multiple drawings of Bluestreak were projected in the center of the table. One of Sunny’s static drawings of Bluestreak’s frame sat front and center, while a few door wingie positions he knew were laid out off to the side. On either side of the larger drawing of Bluestreak, two smaller drawings showed Bluestreak in a building, and seekers in the sky. Dotted, arching arrows of bullet trajectories shot from the end of Bluestreak’s weapon towards a seeker.

There was an uncomfortable unease in everyone’s fields in the room as Sunstreaker rearranged his drawings of Bluestreak. The memory of Sunstreaker repeatedly going through Decepticon frame weaknesses not even fifteen breems ago was fresh in everyone’s processors. Sunstreaker used the base of his stylus to reorient his diagrams so that Bluestreak’s frame rotated directly in the center. He tapped twice to expand his two-dimensional scene into a three-dimensional replica of the terrain at the edges of Iacon. 

Sunstreaker stalled by pressing a few buttons, until numbers and charts were added up onto the display. His digits clenched his datapad tight enough to expose the circuitry within them. He looked toward Sideswipe, his optics wavering to a lighter shade in his uncertainty, and Sideswipe nodded at him along with an encouraging, confident ping to tell the truth. As if Sideswipe had just brushed his servo against Sunny’s knuckles, his plating relaxed a fraction. Then Sunstreaker’s brilliantly deadly blue optics focused straight between Prowl and Ratchet onto Optimus Prime...

And unleashed the real terror Sideswipe’s Sunny held close to his spark.

Undiluted _science_.

“Bluestreak possesses a statistically anomalistic accuracy when it comes to shooting a flying target. I have observed him shoot both energy- and shell-based weaponry in the shooting range, and in the field. Both require significantly different calculations based on wind speed, the curvature of Cybertron, topographical features, and the atmospheric conditions. In terms of shell-based weaponry– which is more energy efficient– the further his bullet has to fly, the more gravity pulls it toward the planet. He not only needs to know the wind speed at his position, but the conditions, and type of wind flow around a target. In terms of shooting seekers, he simultaneously needs to calculate flight vectors to predict where his target will be by the time the bullet arrives. His accuracy, from the small datapoints I observed at the edges of Iacon, indicates that Bluestreak possesses an in-depth knowledge of seeker maneuverability and flight vectors.”

Sideswipe struggled to keep the gloating smile from his face, unwilling to detract from Sunny’s moment as his Sunny sparkled and shined. More than half of what he was saying was mumbo jumbo to Sideswipe. But Wheeljack perked up, his audial fins flashing while his field blared fascinated interest. Ratchet met Prime’s optics, then clenched his jaw. He jerked his head toward Sunstreaker with a raised brow before he leaned forward and gave Sunstreaker his attention. Jazz dropped his casual composure, stiffening and extending his field to Prowl. Sideswipe flitted about at the edges of their fields, feeling Prowl’s retreat as his door wingies stilled. 

Sideswipe counted out another strike along their bond.

No one was laughing now. 

Sunstreaker swiped to a blank screen. His stylus moved rapidly back and forth across the screen, where a two-dimensional outline of a seeker in flight mode was drawn in a matter of klicks. Parallel lines following the contours of the seeker were added over its surface. At the edges of its wings and its aft thrusters, he added curved almost circular arrows.

The crowd was dead silent, fields pulsing, stunned. Sideswipe felt the familiar nervous uncertainty start to rise in Sunstreaker at the lack of feedback.

//You’ve stunned them into silence,// Sideswipe bolstered him. //Land the final blow, Sunny.//

Sunny added an additional swirling arrow, staring down at his new drawing, and then he struck.

“As you can see in my wind vector diagram, the wind around a seeker flows in laminar streams over the surface, and others where the laminar flow breaks down and transitions to turbulent flow. This occurs because air flowing over a surface has friction; it’s viscous. It can act…” Sunstreaker paused, searching for a word. 

//Sticky?// Sideswipe guessed. //I got stuck to the back of the seeker sometimes.//

//That was the force of the wind and centripetal - fine, it works, but not for the reasons you think.//

“It can act, as Sideswipe would say, _sticky_.” 

The little twitch at the side of Sunstreaker’s mouth as he said that might as well have been a full-on mischievous grin as far as Sideswipe was concerned. Sunny was nervous that his presentation wouldn’t be enough, but -

Sunny was having fun. 

Sunny might as well have been _playing_ with Sideswipe in full view of everyone. The mischievous grin Sunstreaker kept along their bond formed instead on Sideswipe’s face. Ironhide gaped between them in disbelief, and Sideswipe winked at the mech when he caught his one-time fan’s optic.

Sideswipe’s wonderful Sunny narrowed his optics at Ironhide’s shuffle of discomfort, then focused back on Optimus Prime.

“Air can be viewed as flowing in straight lines until it encounters a surface, causing the air closest to it to stick. This friction from a free-moving stream of air around an object propagates upward. The velocity of the air at the surface is slower than the stream above it as air is displaced around the seeker.”

On his datapad, Sunstreaker drew a short line with an arrow on the top plating of the seeker, then a slightly longer line above it. He continued until he had seven lines with arrows on the ends of increasing lengths before he continued.

“This is a visualization of the area of air passing over a seeker; a boundary layer. When the boundary layer reaches a pocket of high pressure, the slower moving air doesn’t have the energy to move through it. This area of reversed flow is called a separation bubble, it is the transition point from laminar to turbulent flow.” At the back of the seeker he pointed at the vortex of swirls of air he had drawn: irregular shapes and curved arrows folding in on themselves in all sorts of different directions. “Turbulent flow creates pressure drag -”

“You know the fundamentals of aerodynamics, Sunstreaker?” Wheeljack interrupted, his voice leaking the surprise in his field. 

“These are basic principles of fluid dynamics,” Sunstreaker stated with a huff, like it was obvious. “Do you need me to go slower?”

“And there’s that ego.” The barely audible mutter from Ratchet contrasted the brief flash of amusement that flit through the edges of his field.

“Not at all.” Wheeljack’s helm fins flashed from purple to a delighted orange. “It is not the fundamentals I am questioning, but my surprise lays in the fact that you thought to study aerodynamics at all. I apologize for interjecting, but you have my cortex racing with possibilities as to how you could have applied this knowledge given your -” He cleared his vocalizer then continued, “If it is not too uncomfortable of a question to answer - Primus knows I’m prone to speaking before I realize the bounds of propriety, my interest is purely academic I assure you - but, ah… ” Wheeljack caught Ratchet’s pursed lips and slight shake of his head. “Perhaps it is best if I leave it for another time. Ignore me, I’m accustomed to being the one who makes Ironhide’s optics glaze over, this is a delightful change of pace in a meeting.”

Sunstreaker bristled as Wheeljack scooted his chair closer. Reaching out, the Autobot scientist manipulated the control console and brought one of Sunny’s drawings closer to himself for examination. 

//What the frag did that mean?//

//Wheeljack is just excited to see you talk science stuff.// Now was definitely not the time to tell Sunny that Ratchet was making non-verbal communication signals around the table. //Just ignore him for now.//

Sunny continued to glare at Wheeljack’s earnest expression and crowding of his personal space. The flashing colours of Wheeljack’s audial fins was a distracting communication code yet to be solved.

“Having Sideswipe and I on their backs,” Sunny took a step to the side as if Wheeljack was laced in rust, trying to focus back on his datapad, “further disrupts their aerodynamic laminar flow, creating parasite drag.” Sunstreaker’s servo moved his stylus back and forth as he spoke. Some of his parallel lines were erased and replaced with a two-dimensional replica of Sideswipe, laying on the back of the seeker. “As you can see, the presence of the anomalous addition of a highly unaerodynamic, parasitic Sideswipe -“

//Hey.// 

“- creates a more turbulent disturbance in the air. This of course, is all wind flow data independent of weather conditions and terrain wind shears. Therefore, based on Bluestreak’s level of accuracy, I predict that he has studied wind flow and flight maneuvers of flight frames. He skillfully targeted and kept the ever shifting third seeker from interfering while Sideswipe and I manipulated the control surfaces of the others. He is fearless of heights, listens to orders without unnecessary questions and functionless banter, is adaptable when Sideswipe abruptly requires a shift in a plan, such as when his fragging jetpack he loves so much inevitably malfunctions -“

// _Hey!_ // 

“-and he has an interesting berthroom.”

A copy of the drawing Sideswipe had helped Sunstreaker with in the washracks appeared on the holographic display. A room with a bed, a desk, a round fluffy chair, and a closet. The berthroom Bluestreak had described the entire way back to the Autobot main base. All of his little thingamajigs and whatsamitcallits on shelves and his walls, drawn to the best of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s imaginations, based on Bluestreak’s descriptions Sunny had memorized.

Bluestreak stood rigid, door wingies frozen, staring at Sunstreaker and the drawing of his berthroom.

Red Alert and Prowl protested the breach of security, but Sideswipe tuned them out. Only one reaction mattered toward his end goal. 

“You... you were actually listening to me?” Bluestreak’s voice cut above them all. His field flared out from his frame in stunned shock. “The entire time you… ”

Everyone except Sunstreaker now stared at Bluestreak as he trailed off into speechlessness. 

After a few rotations of silence weighed in the room, Sunstreaker scrolled back to the drawing of his airflow over a seeker. 

“You missed his light up gong-target in the right corner by his desk.” Jazz’s focus snapped back toward Sunstreaker. 

“Bluestreak did not mention it in his description.” Sunstreaker responded matter-of-factly without looking up at Jazz. “Or were you not listening?”

The soft smile that formed on Sideswipe’s face couldn’t be calculated or faked as he stared at his Sunny. To anyone else, Sunny appeared focused on his task, but along their bond he was coiled tight. He was drawing as an excuse to appear busy and avoid puzzling out the social reactions surrounding him. Wheeljack’s interruption had dimmed some of the fun he had been comfortable having with Sideswipe in secret like he had back in the lab. He was too focused on failure to try now.

But that’s why he had Sideswipe connected to him spark deep. 

_Conjunx Endura._

The new words rattled around amid the cluttered processes of Sideswipe’s cortex, battling with his consideration of whether or not he had underestimated Ratchet’s importance in the Autobot command structure.

They could be. Conjunx Enduraeses.

Maybe?

Sideswipe sent a wave of awe through their bond, just because his Sunny was the brightest spark that could ever be. Every time Sideswipe faltered, Sunny was there to fill in the cracks. Sunny’s quieter emotions bled into his, mingling together - feeling the same. For a moment it felt as if no force, no friction, could ever stop them. Sideswipe’s optics were locked on Sunstreaker focused on his drawing, and the rest of the room melted away. No one else existed on all of Cybertron but them. 

Just them. Just Because. 

No one else could ever matter more.

“You were testing Bluestreak from the moment you met him.” 

Prowl’s voice snapped Sideswipe back from where he had inadvertently become submerged in the waves of feelings of himself and Sunstreaker working toward this goal in a strange kind of harmony.

“And he passed.” Without looking up, Sunstreaker quoted the phrase Ratchet had used to him. Bluestreak stood straighter at Sunstreaker’s words, his door wingies lowering then hiking back up and fanning slightly.

“You impressed Sunny with a single shot when you pulled my aft out of a sticky situation, and again when you partnered with him in the sim,” Sideswipe translated. “Not a lot of mecha I’ve ever met can impress my Sunny.” Leaning to his right, Sideswipe bumped the bottom of his wheeled shoulder against Bluestreak. “You’ve got the spark of a gladiator, and mad crazy skills, Blue. We’ve got big plans for you. You can help us take Jet Judo to another level.”

“Optimus.” Ratchet’s voice and posture left no room for nonsense. “I respect their decision to tie their deployment orders together, but you cannot honestly be considering encouraging this… this…” He jabbed a digit toward Sunny’s drawings. “This suicide!”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you spend your younglinghood jumping off the spires of Vos and learning flappie A from flappie B with one of the greatest seekers who ever lived?” Sideswipe snapped. Without prompting, Sunstreaker brought up a diagram of three flight models, all with the simple glyphs Sideswipe could read and he pointed at them for emphasis. “Do you even know one flappie from another?”

“You can not possibly call them…” Prowl leaned forward, and scanned Sunstreaker’s diagram, “‘flappies’.”

“There you go, sounding like Sunny again,” Sideswipe huffed, and glared at Prowl. “I invented it, I name the terms. That is precisely my point, Optimus, Sir. In a combat situation, I don’t have time to argue about all the fine details that don’t matter while the winds shift and I’m out there getting the results you need.”

“Actually, it’s genius,” Wheeljack spoke up from where he had been quietly examining Sunstreaker’s diagrams. “What Decepticon seeker would know what you mean by “flappies A through F”? It’s a built-in code, not to mention “left aileron, right horizontal stabilizer” is a mouth full in a combat situation.”

“See!” Sideswipe snapped his digits and pointed at Wheeljack. “I knew I liked you the first moment I saw you. I need Wheeljack under my command too.”

“Wait just one -” Slamming his servo down on the table, chair scraping back, Ratchet stood. “You can’t just commandeer the Head of our Science Division. Optimus, you cannot possibly be entertaining this mockery of command!”

The Prime opened his mouth and Sideswipe held up his servos.

“No no, obviously that’s not what I meant.” Anymore, anyway. “I’ve been poking around and you are woefully under-equipped with the materials I need to train Bluestreak to mount a proper seeker defense while me and Sunny do offense. We are going to have to spend some time working with Wheeljack to -“

//Help me out, Sunny.//

//Wind tunnel.//

“- build a wind tunnel,” Sideswipe finished, without missing a beat.

//Do we actually need a wind tunnel?// Sideswipe asked, and he got the equivalent of a shrug along the bond from Sunny. 

//It was the first idea that formed in my cortex.//

“Why do you need a wind tunnel?” Prowl asked.

//Frag, uh - Sunny?//

//I don’t fragging -//

“To increase the difficulty of my targeting calculations in a high-pace battle scenario, right guys?”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker both turned their heads in unison, gaping at Bluestreak together along their bond. 

“I mean,” Bluestreak scratched at the back of his helm, and gave a nervous chuckle. His door wingies stirred the air and brushed Sideswipe’s arm as they cycled rapidly through positions. “Outside of the simulators, it’s not like we have actual seekers to practice on, right? I’m often shooting in the remains of urban areas, and the buildings create a wind tunnel-like effect with complicated wind shear between me and my target. That’s where I normally practice anyway, and -”

“See, Prime sir!” Sideswipe couldn’t resist tossing his arm around Bluestreak and smooshing their cheeks together. “He’s _perfect_. Every test we throw at him, he sails through like a sailing thingie!” Sideswipe steered his left servo through the air like a seeker.

Prime stared back, completely unimpressed.

“Is this just a game to you, Private?”

Sideswipe sobered instantly, releasing his hold on Bluestreak and standing at attention. 

It was. Kind of, but then so was the war as far as Sideswipe could tell. Half-truths were always easier to hide behind in his field. If he said no, it would be an outright lie. The illogical logical way in which Sideswipe saw the world and everyone around him was like a game he had learned to play. A little poke here, a little tug there and he could move some of the people around him to do what he wanted to do. It was a matter of survival. Not all games were fun to play after all, but there was always a very serious goal at the center of all of Sideswipe’s plans. 

What could seem like a pointless diversion could be a ruse to cover his uncertainty of a situation, or it could be an opportunity to create the foundations of a new friend. 

His goals shifted around him like a cloud of mist. If there was an opportunity to achieve a step closer to two or more of his code named operations at the same time, Sideswipe took it. 

There was more here at stake than just Jet Judo and getting placed together for Sunny’s comfort. 

Asking to be made Air Commander _was_ a game to Sideswipe; one he took incredibly seriously though it could be hard to tell. Sideswipe’s entire life had been a series of losses with minor victories in the face of death. Death was shrouded in purple and stared out at the world through a single, impassive red optic. Anything else, paled in comparison. 

Two options of response. Two choices swirled around him in this moment. He could outright lie, or he could tell the truth in a roundabout way. 

He opted for a full truth.

“How do you win a game if you keep following the same rules without question?” He tilted his head to the side, and let his honesty pulse clearly in his field, “You either find the fun along the way, or you crack.”

“The war is not a game, Private.”

Sideswipe couldn’t keep the flinch from his field with that response to his honest to Primus question. It had been a mistake to try to explain, but he tried again anyway because he knew he was right about this.

“Are you sure?” Because in Sideswipe’s experience everything could be a game if you found the right angle to look at it. 

“We are done here Private, I will not gamble with my Autobot’s lives.” Prime picked up a datapad from in front of Prowl, turned his back on Sideswipe, and headed back toward his seat. “As per article seven, sub-section four of the Autobot Code, your petition to tie your deployments together is pending the completion of your paperwork. Report to Prowl to receive the appropriate forms. All three of you are confined to your barracks pending disciplinary actions. Sunstreaker, I expect those technical schematics you offered to appear on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

//We should go.// 

//No.// Sideswipe pinged back, watching the Prime all but dismiss them, and return to take his seat. // _Technically_ he didn’t say we were dismissed and if he was going to tear off my arm and beat me with it, he would have done it by now.//

Hardening his field, Sideswipe reached into a subspace pocket and spoke from the spark.

A Fullstasis piece clattered onto the table. Sideswipe tossed the piece, so it spun on its round head and wobbled its way across the table’s surface toward Prime. 

“Not a game, Sir?” Sideswipe began. “Then tell me you don’t move pieces like that around on a map when you plan your battles, Sir.” A stain of processed energon from the neutral mech who taught Sideswipe how to play it, was still dried and smeared across its dingy surface. Sunny was repulsed that Sideswipe would carry ‘unsanitary’ like that around, but Sideswipe just couldn’t bring himself to clean it off. “Tell me you don’t calculate your statistics of _acceptable_ losses.” Sideswipe spat, letting his full ire flare in his field. “Sir.”

Sideswipe’s clipped and final ‘sir’ rang through the room. He let his lip curl slightly in a snarl, as he made his revulsion clear. 

Fullstasis was a terrible game: the goal was to capture a single importance piece, no matter how many of his own he had to sacrifice along the way to achieve it. He had learned how to play it because it seemed like the _normal_ thing to do, but it always sat wrong in his spark.

The game Carrier had played with him and his little wire mechs was one hundred and infinity times better. He had to keep as many of his pieces as safe as he could in order to win.

There was a pause as the piece fell to rest before Optimus Prime. A slight creek of Prime’s chair broke the tension as he leaned forward and rested the tip of his digit on the piece. 

“The war, and the destruction ravaged across all of Cybertron has left no one unscared.” Prime’s voice was firm as he projected his field. “That the two of you stand here today is a testament to both of your knowledge, skill, and unwavering determination to survive in the face of certain death. Your passionate words, and dedication to the memory of those who have been lost is not only commendable, but admirable. ‘Let strong winds of the past whisper the memory of those now gone.’”

Sideswipe’s snarl dropped from his face and he narrowed his optics. His spark twisted in uncomfortable longing. That was from Sideswipe’s favourite hero story too.

“‘Let them guide your every step,’” Prime continued and picked up Fullstasis piece. He held it gently between his digit tips and examined it. “‘For once the dust settles, the dead can not be brought back to life.’ By your own admission, you live by these words do you not?” 

When the full force of Prime’s undivided attention focused oh him, it was all Sideswipe could do to avoid shifting on his pedes. There was no threat Prime’s optics, but for the first time Sideswipe wondered if this was what it was like to be the one Sunstreaker stared at, seemingly straight through his plating like a puzzle.

Warily, Sideswipe nodded. 

“I hear their laughter still in every breeze.” His voice sounded smaller than he would like, so he strengthened it as he straightened his posture and met Prime’s probing stare head on. “I’ve scaled to the tips of crumbling spires of Vos in the dark of night in order to watch light rays crest the mountain tops. I’ve walked the tunnels of Altihex that lead deep into the core of Cybertron, and found life that would not be tamed.” All his stories, and the indescribable feelings linked to simply being free on his adventures on Cybertron with all those who never survived, poured out of his spark. His field flared out in determination. “I know the story behind each and every piece that falls. I remember them. I fight for _them_ , and I live for them.” Compelled to move, Sideswipe took two steps forward and placed his servos down on the table, and loomed. “Tell me their shadows follow you at night. Tell me you know the stories that your war carved into every silent, smoldering city; because I still give them voice.”

Prime’s field didn’t waver under the pressure of Sideswipe’s unrestrained field. By the end his voice echoed off the walls, and he had to consciously reign in his field.

“A war can not be won without uncomfortable sacrifice in the face of death,” Prime said. “Nor can one lead without making difficult decisions for those who look to them for decisive action and strength in our darkest moments. The fact that you are still alive, despite the odds set against you, tells me you know how to make morally ambiguous decisions,” Prime placed the Fullstasis piece back on its side on the table, then shifted his focus toward Sunstreaker. “Or someone else has been making those hard decisions for you.”

“Sunny wouldn’t -” The words lodged in Sideswipe’s vocalizer. The memory of the chilling expectant look Sunstreaker had given him when he brought Sideswipe back online attached to the fuel lines of another, and the sickening twisted feel of their field, churned his fuel tanks like curdled energon. Prime took advantage of his moment’s hesitation.

“You have your orders soldiers.” Prime’s attention returned to his datapad. 

“Looks like we’re going to the front lines, Sunny.” Gritting his denta, Sideswipe spun on his heelstrut and walked toward the door. His servo wrapped around his rusted dagger, and he yanked it out, “Where we’ll be right at home.” 

The front lines had been their original plan, but Sideswipe couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so bitter about it now. 

“Sideswipe.” Prime’s voice cut short Sideswipe’s engine he hadn’t realized he was rumbling. Optimus Prime hadn’t bothered to look up from reading his datapad when Sideswipe turned around. “I expect you to refrain from pressing all of Red Alert’s buttons in the future. Am I understood?”

Sideswipe squinted at the Prime again, unsettled at the strange sensation settling in his fuel tank. 

“I’ll try,” He responded honestly. “Prime sir.” 

“Dismissed.” This time, Sideswipe followed Prime’s clear orders, leaving the room as Sunstreaker stomped along behind him into the hall and Bluestreak shuffled out with them. 

Spark twisting with emotions, Sideswipe pointedly avoided the nagging feeling he had all but forgotten racing through him. Why did he feel like Carrier had just scolded him?

Shaking his helm, he looked back as the doors slid closed and caught Prime’s optics on him.

Autobots were fragging weird.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

The doors hissed closed and Sideswipe’s suspicious blue optics peering back at him were blocked from view.

Optimus Prime resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. Instead he took a moment to gather his thoughts by pretending to read the datapad he had plucked from in front of Prowl. The Matrix was pulsing in his chest, as if approving his course of action with Sideswipe, but his cortex was laying out all the ways his approach could be seen as undermining his authority.

The intersection of roles Optimus navigated between with his responsibilities as a spiritual, cultural, and military leader to his people was not a clear path. Sideswipe had prodded each role, challenging Optimus not simply as a military leader of the Autobots, but as a _Prime_. 

In those early cycles of his elevation to Primehood, Starscream had done much the same.

The Air Commander of Vos had found him lacking. 

“Thoughts?” Optimus set the datapad down on the table before him and laced his digits together. A lot had just happened that needed processing. He didn’t want them to censor themselves. He couldn't tell if he had made the right decision or not. His doubts conflicted with the Matrix's desires.

“He’s his own agent.” Jazz rubbed at the sides of his visor. “I can’t explain it Prime, but he didn’t lie - or at least he believes he can do it and that slag he spouts.”

“Primus apotheosis?” Red Alert asked.

Ratchet scowled for a moment before responding, “He doesn’t fit the symptoms.”

“He certainly has a savior complex.” Red Alert bounced a leg in irritation while returning to his surveillance cameras on the datapad in front of him. “‘From everywhere and nowhere:’ He all but implied Primus sent him.”

“He doesn’t worship Optimus, he challenged him.” Ratchet rested an elbow on the table and placed a servo on his mouth as he thought, “Not for leadership of the Autobots, but for his own command autonomy in battle. No, it’s not Primus apotheosis, he didn’t quote Optimus, or any past Prime once.”

“Not even a sacred text.” Wheeljack added without looking up from where he was scribbling on a scrap piece of metal he had pulled from his subspace.

“His phrasing was odd though.” Jazz continued to rub at the sides of his helm. “He said: ‘Strong wings of the past have whispered your name and guided me to you from my home. I carry the memories of all those now past. They guide my every step as I look to the future.’”

Wheeljack’s field all but burst in excitement as his helm fins flashed multiple colours, “Time travel?”

Red Alert jerked his head up from his attention on his screen, “How do you expect me to secure the base from time travelers?”

“It depends which theory we are defending against.” Wheeljack said. His optics lit up like a youngling during the Festival of the All Spark.

“We all have processor aches!” The alarm in Red Alert’s voice reached a higher pitch, “Don’t you deny it! I see you all rubbing or shaking your helms. How do we know he didn’t alter us in some way with that strange field flicking behaviour of his!”

“He is not a time traveller! He’s out of touch while society moved on without him.” Ratchet stated with an irritated huff.

Leaning forward, Ratchet counted out points on his digits, “One: They get into everything and they steal rations. Sideswipe climbs over a table instead of going around them; this is not surprising behaviour. They’ve been surviving on their own. Alone, for who knows how long. Two: Sideswipe said Sunstreaker can’t bear the touch of a field against his own. It’s reasonable to surmise Sideswipe has developed a warped form of a field deprivation habit. Three: Sideswipe began the Rites of Trunity and performed them in front of a Prime. He used outdated, prewar conventions that Starscream abolished when he declared Vos neutral in the early vorns of conflict. Four: he is not a prophet of Primus, a secret savior raised in the fabled Crystal City, or whatever the frag you are all thinking of next. The only reason that mech is still alive is because Sunstreaker has kept him alive. There is a rational explanation for all of this.”

“As rational as flying above the shores of the Rust Sea with a jetpack?” Jazz picked up the rusted goggles Sideswipe had left behind. He dragged his thumb across the lens and examined the rust granules between his digit tips. 

His visor narrowed down, then slid the goggles across the table toward Wheeljack. “Check the isotopes in that will ya? I want date estimates. Challenge his claims.” 

Wheeljack nodded, and Jazz looked pointedly at Optimus, “He’s playing you, but for what I can’t figure out. He’s his own agent with his own goals. I don’t care what he says, if there had been a grounder youngling in Vos riding around on the backs of seekers I would have heard about it.”

“But the science behind what Sunstreaker presented shows it is possible.” Wheeljack’s brows furrowed as he examined the googles. “And you’ve seen them do it.”

“Don't know about you all, but Sparkles just blew me away. Mech should - huh - a spark specialist from Kaon… ” Jazz paused and moved his digits through the air, following a thread of something only he could visualize, “Ratchet, any indication Sideswipe use to be a flight frame?”

Ratchet’s narrowed focus suddenly honed in on Jazz.

“Do not even entertain breaking into my medical files.” The Chief Medical Officer snarled out with every ounce of his authority.

“Can’t blame me for trying by asking outright. That accent of his is natural though… ” Jazz shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I hope you are looking into that medical problem of his, a clunk and a hiss like that from inside his chestplate earlier, didn’t sound healthy.”

In response Ratchet reached into his subspace, and plonked his wrench on the table in front of Jazz. He patted it without breaking eye contact. Jazz held up his servos in surrender. 

“You’re too soft on them.” Ironhide’s criticism agreed with one side of the war in Optimus’ cortex. “They ain’t gonna respect ya, or follow orders if you don’t-” 

“‘Do not punish a laserbird for taking flight,’” Prowl’s voice cut through Ironhide’s objections. “‘Nor a turbofox for its bite, if you have not promoted its attachment to you.’”

“‘The Winds of War.’” Optimus stared down at the processed energon flaking and staining the game piece before him: a ‘grey.’ The greys were the weakest, meant for opening offensives and to be sacrificed to move the more powerful pieces toward victory. Sideswipe had made his point painfully clear. “I ask you to consider the approach I have taken with them: when faced with of compassion how does Sideswipe react?”

“Surprised.” Ratchet answered immediately, “Sunstreaker is the same. They both get suspicious.”

“It would do you all well to remember Sideswipe’s graphic descriptions of his experience in the Pits,” Optimus said evenly. “Let the full horror of a life in those conditions sink into your cortex. In the case of Sunstreaker, and what Sideswipe shared about him, I expect you to remember that mech has lived in the face of death for potentially his entire function. Neither he, or Sideswipe, will react the way you are accustomed to when it comes to discipline.”

“It wouldn’t be effective.” Ratchet added. “Whether its conscious or not, when you rounded the table, Sunstreaker braced himself. He was going to stand there while you— he was resigned! It’s same exact mentality that the mechs in Dead End had. He’s learned there isn’t a point in fighting it. Sideswipe keeps pushing, because he wants to know at what point you’ll react like Megatron.” 

“They’re full grown mechs,” Ironhide protested. “And we ain’t exactly equipped to wait around for them to come give you hugs. We’ve got a war to fight.”

“The ideal victory is one in which no shots are fired.” Prowl added.

“You’re talking psychological warfare,” Jazz smirked. “Intel gathering. Best way to get under their plating.”

Optimus’ spark throbbed. They had all been steeped in war too long.

“I prefer not to think of it as _warfare_ ,” Optimus gave a pointed look to Jazz. “But as earning their trust and loyalty with a chance to be more than simply the weapons they barter themselves to be.” Optimus didn’t see it, not until he heard Trailbreaker’s laughter to realize what they had already lost as a society. Sunstreaker dropped down onto a knee. An act of subservience he has never required. “They will receive punishment detail for their interruption of a command meeting, and issuing threats against Autobots, but I will not punish Sideswipe for invoking an audience with the bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, and speaking what we all needed to hear.” 

The words and mannerisms of city cultures now either muddled or lost, coming out of one mech in a few sentences had been haunting to say the least. For once, Optimus and the Matrix were in complete agreement. The broken vision of a united Cybertron was haunting.

Ratchet made an ‘ahem’ noise to clear the silence. “Being able to quote from a text does not give Sideswipe credence to declare himself Air Commander.”

The pointed look he got from Ratchet, Optimus knew well enough. He wanted Optimus to stop considering that perhaps fate _had_ guided Sideswipe toward this moment. By Primus - was Optimus allowed to curse by Primus if he was Prime? - he took a calming ventilation to avoid pinching the bridge of his nose; why didn’t the Matrix come with a manual?

“A _Vosian_ philosophical text.” Jazz stressed to Ratchet’s point. “He does more than quote it though, doesn’t he… ” Jazz drummed against the table as he trailed off in thought. Turning his chair around in the proper orientation, Jazz crossed an ankle over his knee. “Megatron won other gladiators loyalties through executions, mech said himself he was there for life, but Megatron didn’t gain Sideswipe’s loyalty. Why?”

“For all Megatron’s charisma,” Prowl said. His optics moved to focus in on the game piece resting on the table before Optimus. “He lost sight of his original strategic goal. His destruction of the Senate, after you received the Matrix, was absolute. He led his troops to massacre government functionaries, many of whose only crime was that they worked in a government agency. He allowed his troops to execute nobles, and anyone else of privileged class, without trial. In doing so, he solidified his follower’s allegiance, but he isolated himself from any neutral who may have been sympathetic to his cause.” Prowl lacked inflection in his tone as he presented his analysis.

“They feared reprisal if they had not suffered _enough_ before his uprising. Megatron leaves no room for consideration of lives of circumstance. Sideswipe is infuriatingly stubborn.” Prowl stated with finally a hint of irritation, “If he lives his life based on the axiom set forth in ‘The Winds of War,’ his moral philosophy would have clashed.”

“He’s no pacifist.” Ironhide objected.

“No. He’s not.” Optimus agreed. Reaching out, Optimus picked up the Fullstasis piece from the table, compelled to feel the weight of it again in his digit tips. “He abhors pointless slaughter. He understands the value of a moral victory, and the influence it has on morale toward a long term goal. The original goal and the vision Megatron held for Cybertron’s future was poetic; enticing and inspiring.” Optimus tried to hide the way his spark throbbed. “He promised change.”

“A true Prime is the leader Cybertron needs,” Jazz added with respectful reverence. “Not the one we think we want.” 

Clearly, Optimus could not hide his personal pain well enough to those who knew him best.

Optimus was reminded of the look on Jazz’s face the night they first met. The honest look of tortured contemplation on Jazz’s face as he perched on the end of Optimus’ bed, staring down at his knife, was one moment where he would never regret listening to the Matrix’s guidance. 

“The sim.” Ironhide pointed at the tabletop. “It’s why you played along, and again in the corridor when he flooded it with suds.”

“By joining Sideswipe’s boost in morale, I became a part of his victory.” Optimus brushed his thumb across the grey, the energon was caked through the holes of the porous, solidified aluminum foam. It had been exposed to heat, most likely from a blast. “‘Claim mastery of the sky,’” Optimus whispered the quote to himself, “‘but do not forget the forces that rule in the Sea of Rust. Only a fool fights in a single dimensional plane.’”

“It was more than just them thinking the safeties were a joke,” Ironhide groaned. “Oh Primus, I thought he was spewing non-sense but he told us - he fragging told us - when he cackled that he and Sunstreaker were the masters of the rust sea and sky. We were evaluating him for his leadership abilities, and he was parsecs ahead of us.”

“I wouldn’t give him that much credit.” Ratchet objected and pointed toward the closed door. “He just attempted to _negotiate_ for a command position, after Sunstreaker attempted to bribe us with intel to control his placement. What was his strategy for that?”

“Megatron’s paranoid.” Jazz pointed out. “He has his command structure set up so that no one has all the information for control of the forces at his disposal. It’s a constant irritation to Starscream, whose seeker forces can be redirected mid-battle upon Megatron’s whims. Sides had a point about Jet Judo. It happens fast, being micromanaged in battle would render it ineffective.”

“And you all thought I was overreacting.” Red Alert scowled. “I told you something was off about them. They reek of deception.”

“‘Deception is at the spark of all warfare.’” Optimus quoted, his spark aching in memory of himself laying next to Megatronus with the archive’s copy of the text. “Sideswipe surprised us today, because we keep making assumptions about them. His proposition has merit. His approach was wrong but commanders must be free to make decisions on their troop movements during a coordinated assault.”

“Wait.” Ratchet deadpanned. “You are trying to tell me that you believe Sideswipe knows this. Sideswipe? The mech who makes goofy faces through the one-way mirror in my office, has actual technical knowledge of command. Bah.” Ratchet sliced his servo through the air.

“Through a certain lens, it appears so.” Optimus set the grey back on the table. “While we were testing Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as resources to be integrated into our ranks, it’s clear he’s been evaluating us in turn. Prowl, under your command but with a degree of autonomy mid battle, how viable is what he and Sunstreaker presented in terms of pairing Bluestreak with them for Jet Judo?”

“For three seekers, assuming they are taken by surprise?” Prowl nodded. “It’s worth exploring. However, I predict a greater impact on the battlefield by deploying their talents in a more organized manner. Their aerial combat will not hold up in the face of an entire squadron of seekers. It would be most effective used sparingly, and leaving no survivors who could develop a counter attack.”

“You can not be considering awarding them a specialised task force!” Red Alert protested. “They can not even -”

“Red -”

“Do not ‘Red Alert’ me!” Red Alert’s voice raised an octive while he linked his datapad into the holographic display of the table, then pointed. “They couldn't even follow your clear orders to return to the barracks and await the consequences of their actions! You want to explain that!?”

On the holographic display, the security feed from the training room flared to life. Sunstreaker balanced on one ped at the center of a shaking center platform designed to simulate randomized shock waves from shell fire. His right leg extended out behind him in an elegant line. Three large obstacle course training hoops spun with skillful intent in his servos. Their motion blurred in the air as if Sunstreaker could will their harmless smooth surfaces into deadly, bladed steel rings.

With a barely detectable flick of his wrist, one hoop rolled over his shoulder pauldron. It trailed down his back to hook on his extended right ped. Small, controlled, circular movements of his leg kept the hoop looping around his ped without pause. Pivoting on his balanced left leg, he used his momentum to launch the hoop from his right servo up into the air. 

A blast of flaming red shot out from a shadowed corner, flying clean through the center of the moving target. Barrel rolling within the hoop, Sideswipe clasped on to the top and guided it to clear his peds. Twisting in a spiralling flight maneuver mid air, Sideswipe flung the hoop back toward Sunstreaker. The hoop cut through the air, but Sideswipe was already redirecting his course toward the next hoop Sunstreaker had launched. 

In a single fluid motion, Sunstreaker flicked the hoop on his ped up to contort his frame through. By the time the first hoop Sideswipe had shot through reached Sunstreaker, he was already flipping up off the center platform to clear it. Once they gained momentum, Sunstreaker scaled his surroundings to leap through hoops. Sideswipe alternated between using his jetpack or climbing. Catching hoops as they dove through them, they became a coordinated force. They worked their way up over piled training equipment toward the rafters. All without safety nets. One of them was always leaping through a hoop at the same time the other was repositioning to jump through one in return.

There was always a third hoop in motion in the air between them. 

It was rhythmic. It was mesmerizing. 

It was -

The oddest mid-air juggling act Optimus had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sing song voice* Bluestreak's in trouble, Prowl's not happy with his baby spreading his... door wingies! The strange way Sideswipe and Sunstreaker worked together in harmony in this chapter delights me. 
> 
> I tried not to spend a ton of time on the Autobot's theories because you all know the answer and I thought it'd drag the story down, but certain mechs *cough* Jazz *cough* are never going to let things slide.
> 
> Next chapter starts with Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and Sunstreaker in the hall and explains why the two of them went to the training room. You have enough information about them to guess.
> 
> The title is _Conjunx Endura_ so guess what Sideswipe tells Sunstreaker they are now.  
>  *Muw ha ha ha ha ha*


	30. Conjunx Endurases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hoops the twins jump through to pretend everything between them is all right. Sideswipe's illogical logic comes full circle, with some help from Sunstreaker's secrets coming to light.  
> (Did not intentionally use the hoop analogy as imagery, it's one of those happy coincidences.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd given up on this story did you? You did?? Naw, I love this story and I've been busy with life stuff while my writing brain has been growing. I had no idea what I was getting into trying to write a story this long and from this many POVs, but it's happening.  
> Unbeta'd this time because I'm trying to get out some updates before I leave for a couple months.

The doors hissed shut behind Sideswipe, and he tossed his rusted knife up into the air. Transforming a subspace pocket on his forearm, he lined it up as he tried to shake the Prime’s words out of his cortex. The knife cleared the boundary, point down, and he transformed it shut. The all too familiar sound of Sunstreaker extending his sharp, pointed digits behind him had Sideswipe jolting to the side, colliding with Bluestreak to make room for him. Deliberately keeping Sideswipe between himself and Bluestreak, and without a look at either of them, Sunstreaker stomped by… in the opposite direction of the barracks.

Slag. 

There was only one reason Sunny wouldn’t follow a direct order like that from Prime. He had reasoned that an outstanding order took priority: the combat training room was in that direction.

All knotted up internally from the Prime’s words about Sunstreaker, Sideswipe pushed his own emotions aside to focus on helping his Sunny. With a smile on his face, he worked to fix this before Sunny reached his boiling point and snapped like a spring Sideswipe wound too tight once.

“Good work, Blue,” He slapped a servo on the back of Bluestreak’s shoulder. “Top of the list in there. Let’s show Sunny those new positions me and you came up with for his mobility routine while he was taking all that Sunny-Me Time of his.”

After taking a few steps after his stomping Sunny, Sideswipe’s pedes rooted to the floor. His field was... stuck? He gave it a tug. It felt - turning, he pulsed it hard and Bluestreak’s field snapped away. Sideswipe raised his optic ridge. What the frag? Bluestreak gave a little embarrassed chuckle: scratching at the back of his neck cables, door wingies flaring as they jerked high then sank low.

“Uh, Sideswipe,” His field, darted back and pulsed a confused hesitation, “Optimus confined us to quarters pending our punishment for whatever we just… I mean I’d love too, you know I would, but I don’t think Optimus appreciated us interrupting his meeting — did you really break in? I saw Sunstreaker take off down the hall looking like he was going to battle, and I chased him to see if he was all right, but then he said you needed me — and I know Prowl’s _really_ not happy with me right now, I guess it was worth a shot anyway though, and —“

“Well, _technically,_ ” Sideswipe started to say, while simultaneously sending a ping for Sunny to hold up and wait.

Sunstreaker revved his engine in irritation. Further up the hall, Smokescreen came around a corner and froze in place. His door wingies dropped low and that only served to frustrate Sunstreaker more because Sunstreaker hadn’t done _anything_ except be in the corridor.

Double slag. 

Well, at least Smokescreen looked like he had the sense to not to try to start a conversation with Sunny right now. Sideswipe doubled back and slipped his arm around Bluestreak’s shoulder.

“Prime didn’t tell us to go to the barracks right away,” He reasoned. “Plus, we’re supposed to put in our time in the training room every cycle, right? So really, if you think about it, we’re taking the long way back to the barracks,” Sideswipe walked two of his digits in the air past Bluestreak’s face then poked him on the nose, “ _and_ we’re going to get in our required training time. Everyone wins.”

“I don’t think that’s what Optimus meant… “ Bluestreak’s optics uncrossed from Sideswipe’s finger on his nose, then they widened as Sunstreaker’s posturing Sideswipe was hoping to distract him from came into focus. 

Up the hall Sunstreaker paced with a resounding stomp waiting for Sideswipe to stop dawdling. He prowled back and forth; plating flared. His blade on his right wrist was snapping in and out as he triggered the transformation repeatedly. Sharp digit tips on his left servo extended out then retracted on a loop as he clenched and stretched his servos. 

“I guess he really wanted you to be made Air Commander and do Jet Judo, huh?” Bluestreak whispered, his field pulsing his nervous uncertainty.

That wouldn’t do. Bluestreak had come along too far already for Sideswipe to allow him to be scared off by a stressed and frustrated Sunny now. He was harmless really... if everyone stayed out of his way until Sideswipe could help calm him down. 

“Sunny hasn’t moved much in three cycles,” Sideswipe explained. Then leaning in closer he whispered the honest truth because Bluestreak was going to be Sunny’s friend success. “I don’t think Prime meant to tell Sunny he couldn’t do his mobility routine to test his joints and function, do you? He gets a little on edge if he’s not allowed to do it. Trust me, he shouldn’t go to the barracks right now or someone’s going to end up short a couple of limbs, and he knows that’s against the rules. It’s best to just let him go do his routine first is all.”

Up the hall, Smokescreen was slowly backing up, optics wide as Sunny paused to rotate his neck, stretching and working out kinks in cabling.

“Oh, um. I guess that’s probably fine, but I’ve already done my joors on the range this morning.” Bluestreak ducked out from under Sideswipe’s arm, took a few steps back, then pointed over his own shoulder with his thumb. “Trust _me_ , I should head straight to my quarters. Prowl’s already furious with me enough, he was yelling in my audial over comms when we were in there, he’s going to strip my plating for going against him as soon as that meeting’s done.”

“It’ll be fine, Blue.” Sideswipe made sure to beam at him; an extra confident smile as he flicked soothing pulses at the edges of his field. “I mean, it’s not like Prime ripped off my arm or anything, you know how that is. That always sucks slag. But if Prowl strips some plating off, you find all the pieces and you come see us, we’ve got your back. Sunny’ll weld it back on for you and everything, okay?”

“Uh, thanks... I think,” Bluestreak gave him a weak smile in return then nudged gently at Sideswipe’s field, “But — you do know Autobots don’t rip pieces off each other as punishment, right — I meant that Prowl was going to yell at me, or angrily shuffle-sort his datapads, or sigh all disappointed while having an existential crisis about raising me. For punishment, Command will have us cleaning out stock rooms, sitting on monitor duty, or filing datapads or something else really boring off-shift. Optimus was an archivist before he was Prime, he’s pretty particular about how things should be filed, and I swear between him and Ultra Magnus it’s a form of torture.”

“Of course, I knew that’s what you meant,” Sideswipe laughed it off, “Sorry about that, little gladiator humor is all. We’ve got your back: after you get your backplate stripped off, ha ha, Sunny loves those jokes… anyway, I thought out of everyone here you’d get it. You’re a fighter Blue, even when the odds are stacked against you, you keep firing ’til the end. We like that about you. Fighters have to stick together or we all just become a bunch of numbers staring at walls waiting for input commands. A good friend of mine said something like that to me once.”

He jabbed a friendly punch to Bluestreak’s field, making his door wingies stir the air as they flapped disconcertingly fast. Sideswipe missed Bluestreak’s response though, because he heard a deceptively kind and calm voice further up the hall that made his plating crawl. 

“Sunstreaker, you missed your appointment with me, I was concerned. If you can’t make it in the future, send me a message to reschedule, you don’t have to send Sideswipe in your place.”

“Uh, sorry, Blue gotta go,” Sideswipe absently pat Bluestreak’s shoulder as he narrowed his optics at the space shrink. “See ya tomorrow, hey?”

Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Bluestreak’s door wingies sag, but Sideswipe was only thankful Sunny didn’t see. Sideswipe considered Blue’s strange behaviour for only half a klick before he pushed it aside to smooth over later. Right now, he closed the distance with his golden-yellow ball of rumbles and grumbles —

At a full out run. 

The feeling of frustrated failure was simmering through their bond, and Sunny needed his special spark to fix it. Sunny was taking Prime’s dismissal as a personal failure, and the last thing he needed right now was Rung telling him he’d made a mistake by having Sideswipe deliver his drawing assignment for him. Within a mechanometer of Sunstreaker, Sideswipe’s pistons engaged, depressing him low then firing as he launched — only to have Sunny round on him, face expressionless, and re-divert Sideswipe at the wall. 

But Sideswipe was prepared for that reaction. 

He gripped his servos around Sunny’s wrist, narrowly avoiding his blade and sharp digits, broke his hold, used his speed and forward motion to run a few steps up the wall —

Then flipped up over Sunny’s head, and clung to his backplate by pinning his arms down at his sides.

“You,” Sideswipe nuzzled his chin against Sunny’s neck cables, “called me a space barnacle. Don’t think I didn’t notice: that’s a nickname. No take-backies.”

“I called you a highly non-aerodynamic _parasite_ ,” Sunny huffed, but his arms now hung loose at his sides, giving up the tension in his frame as he let Sideswipe wrap his legs around his waist. “And that fragging new missile launcher is throwing off your center of mass. It’s going to cause your joints to fatigue on that side faster, now I have to recalibrate your —”

“Parasite, space barnacle. Same thingie!” Sideswipe declared before Sunny got lost in itemizing internal component problems only he could see. “Either way, you’re stuck with me. Just try to shake me off, I dare you. You’re going nowhere without me and everywhere with me… Oh, hey Rung.”

Like he just noticed the creepy little orangey note-taking slagger, Sideswipe draped his arms casually over his Sunny’s shoulders and rested his cheekplate so it smooshed against one of Sunny’s audial fins.

 _Mine. My Sunny_. 

“Hello, Sideswipe,” Rung said politely, giving no visible reaction before snubbing Sideswipe’s claim and turning all his attention back to Sunstreaker. “I understand you were set to receive your deployment orders today. I know Ratchet was very eager to receive another set of talented servos in the Medbay and on the field.”

“Sunny’s not going to be a medic,” Sideswipe wasn’t about to be ignored, and Sunny’s servos balled back into fists just wanting out of here. 

But by Primus something in Sideswipe couldn’t help but dawdle to grin and lap at the shock on the edge of Rung’s field. 

“Oh.” Rung said, surprisingly neutrally compared to his field. The little space shrink was good, Sideswipe would give him that. He gave nothing for Sunstreaker to read into his creepy intentions, but Sideswipe _knew_ he was up to no good. “I was under the impression Ratchet planned to apprentice you because of your specialized experience and knowledge, Sunstreaker. What changed?”

“I got our deployment orders tied together,” Sideswipe lied and took the credit for it. “A little section in the Autobot Code - which I read - means once we sign Prowl’s form, we’re going to be the best Frontliners the Autobots never had.”

“- ever had,” Sunstreaker corrected.

//I meant what I said,// Sideswipe corrected right back. 

“Now you’ll have to excuse us,” Sideswipe mimicked more than a few of his Patrons with his tone, “We have to complete our time in the training room for today. It’s _so nice_ to be back in a place with rules again isn’t it, Sunny?”

The little mech to flinched as Sunstreaker started stomping forward, eager to escape trying to have a conversation right now. Sideswipe gave a taunting flick to Rung’s field and snickered to his Sunny along their bond. The look on Rung’s face: frowning, antenna flicking along with his field in alarm as they left, hopefully meant the little space shrinkie-former would back off. 

//What the frag is going on?// Sunstreaker’s engine revved in frustration. //Why are you so happy now? I thought you wanted me to be a medic, and then you tried to be Air Commander, and now you’re happy we’re going to the frontlines? Which we originally wanted, but you were just fragged off about it! Stop changing all my para- //

//Well, now I don’t want you to be a medic because Rung wants you to be a medic.//

//That doesn’t make any sense, why does it matter what Rung wants me to be? He’s not Command. He just likes my drawings. He thinks I’m a… talented mech.//

//That’s because you are talented,// Sideswipe praised immediately, not to be outdone. //But I think he failed you, so frag him. And I don’t like that Rung takes notes on me.// Sideswipe tried to explain as he shared the weird feeling that filled him when he saw the little mech around Sunny. //It makes my plating feel like it wants to crawl off my frame.//

//But I take notes on you,// Sunstreaker pinged, confused.

//That’s different.//

//Why?//

//Because you’re _my Sunny_ , that’s why,// Sideswipe huffed, unable to explain why it wasn’t more complicated than that. //What’s the big problem? I jumped around with Command until I found a way to give you want you wanted, which was staying with me. The end.//

//So, it _is_ my fault you’re angry about going to the frontlines to be cannon fodder,// Sunstreaker wilted with his conclusion.

//It’s _not_ your fault, Sunny,// Sideswipe sent a deluge of love balls and squeezed him tighter. //Your presentation was the best sciency presentation I’ve ever seen. Seriously, I couldn’t have gotten that far with them without you.//

That was the truth too, even if that was the first and only official presentation Sideswipe had ever seen. He knew it would still be the best one just because it was Sunny’s. It was even better in a way though, because they did it together.

//Well?// Sunstreaker grumbled, his irritation rising again. //What the frag just happened then?//

Mindful not to be too quiet, the randomized revs of Sunstreaker’s engine started again as soon as they approached Smokescreen. The mostly blue and red mech practically launched into the air and pinned himself in a doorway. He was actually doing a good impression of a startled petrorabbit. Sideswipe shuttered an optic at him and playfully tweaked his field against the mech’s yellow chevron as they passed.

But Smokescreen recoiled his field away instead of playfully tweaking back like he had at their victory party. 

//Autobots are fragging weird that’s what happened,// Sideswipe huffed in exasperation. //But don’t you worry, I’ve almost got them all figured out.// 

Twitching his plating and fidgeting his pedes around Sunny’s waist, Sideswipe’s tank still twisted strangely when he thought about the way Prime had asked — simply _asked_ Sideswipe — to _please_ try to control himself from pressing Red Alert’s buttons. Then there was that feeling in Prime’s field… Sideswipe was about to shove it aside too, deciding he’d rather not think about it, but he expressed his concern to Sunstreaker.

//I think Prime’s got a _really_ soft spark,// He shared. //I think it’s so soft I can feel it in his field sort of squishy soft. He’s in pain. I hope Ratchet knows the squish of the Prime’s spark and can harden it back up again. That can’t be healthy.//

//I still don’t think sparks have hardness values,// Sunny answered immediately, //But Ratchet appears thorough. If it is relevant, I’m certain he knows the net… unit-squish of the Prime’s spark.//

Sunny’s answer put a genuine smile on Sideswipe’s face. That was about as much as a compliment any mecha but Sideswipe could ever get from his Sunny.

The red science ‘Bot Sunny had taken the datapad from scowled at them as they passed and with Sunny’s mood improving just from the close proximity to his special spark on his back, Sideswipe playfully flicked that mech’s field too.

“Ratchet has your datapad!” Sideswipe said, helpfully. “And thank you!”

He added that last bit for good measure, just to be extra normal so the science mechs wouldn’t want to poke at his special spark. 

//We’re in, and we get to stay together.// Sideswipe pinged a warm, fuzzy feeling as he rested his chin on top of Sunny’s helm. 

Sunny’s stomping vibrated up through Sideswipe’s lower jaw, bouncing him around as he stayed clung to his Sunny’s back. Sunny mirrored the feeling back to him, sending a warm tingle shooting out from his spark like Sunny was softly tickling it. Sideswipe wrapped himself tighter around his Sunny, as if he could meld their frames into one. The heat from Sunny’s frame mingled with Sideswipe’s, providing comfort that was _almost_ enough to ease the ever present longing and urge to merge his spark. 

//You know… in a way… you barging into that meeting got us exactly what we wanted anyway,// Sideswipe sent a pre-emptive ping pattern of victory; on the edge of coming up with a new exciting plan. //Actually, we got _exactly_ what we wanted.//

//You asked to be made Air Commander,// Sunstreaker pointed out.

//True.// Sideswipe pinged his agreement to let Sunny know he was right. //But, I never truly thought they’d make me a Commander, I mean, it would have been great if it happened don’t get me wrong, but that’d be really stupid of them. Autobots have got soft sparks, but they’re not stupid. I did unbalance them though. It’s like I always told you when I bartered with the Neutrals and on the streets, by shooting high, Optimus met me somewhere in the middle.//

//He met you at the bottom.// The hesitant ping of confusion reached Sideswipe as Sunny tried to see and understand what Sideswipe could see. //And the Prime didn’t approve Jet Judo.//

//You’re right.// Sideswipe agreed. //But think of the bigger picture, getting named Air Commander was never my goal when we came here. I just reached for the opportunity when it presented itself. Seriously, the Autobots should have an Air Commander, the sky’s a big place, and outside of the base’s dome shield, that’s a massive offensive and defensive hole. But what did I always tell you when you watched me barter?//

//A bartering ‘hole’ is just opportunity waiting to be filled or exploited. It’s like a weak point on a frame in a fight. Offer solutions to fix it, guard it, or take advantage of it.// Sunstreaker answered word for word what Sideswipe would say.

//Exactly.// Sideswipe cheered. //And _technically_ … // 

Sideswipe’s processor raced as the new plan formed; bits and pieces snapping into place. He sent a mischievous vibrating ping that made Sunny groan over their bond. Pressing his servos down on Sunny’s shoulders, Sideswipe engaged the pneumatic lines and cables through his core. Effortlessly, from long joors of practice, Sideswipe inverted himself. Balancing on Sunny’s shoulders as his weirdo stomped down the center of the hallway. 

Sideswipe dropped his face down so he took up most of his Sunny’ visual feed, and grinned. 

//Prime didn’t say we couldn’t not do Jet Judo.// He pinged his new brilliant scheme. //We have to practice combat every cycle anyway, right?//

Autobots they passed stopped to stare, but Sideswipe was too excited about what he had learned from Red Alert’s cameras watching them to care.

//We do,// Sunstreaker said, cautiously, clamping in his plating; hyperaware of all the optics on them.

But Sideswipe was on a roll, nudging open his side of their bond wider until their fans clicked on under the strain of his excitement. 

//And you proved yourself how _technically_ complicated Jet Judo is. We break it down into parts, like what we did with your mobility routine, into the skills we need to practice to pull it off. Bluestreak’ll be on board _and_ it gives you something to talk to him about that _technically_ doesn’t have a right or wrong answer because the answer’s never been written… and I bet I could talk Wheeljack into helping us out while we record his helm light colour meanings for you — he was really interested in what you had to say by the way. This is great, Sunny! Bluestreak will give us an excuse as a cover if we’re seen making mistakes because he’s “new” to our team. The Autobots will never know we aren’t technically already Jet Judo masters, and by the time we pull it out in battle to save everyone we’ll be experts! Think of it like a Super Secret Operation! And Bluestreak said we’re probably going to be punished by cleaning out rooms, so we can find materials and scout locations and —//

There was a dull thunk as Sunny flicked Sideswipe in the center of his forehelm, and sent a sharp ping of correction to his spark. He narrowed the bond from his end, bringing Sideswipe back into focus.

//How the frag do you always manage this?// Despite the aching pain both of them felt from the narrowing of their bond, the corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth twitched up in the way Sideswipe loved best.

//I’m just that special is all.// Upside down, with his legs spread out in the air toward the ceiling, and balanced on with his servos on Sunstreaker’s shoulders: Sideswipe nuzzled their noses together. //But I couldn’t do it at all without my Sunny.// 

//Everyone’s watching us.// Sunny’s fans whirred faster. 

//Let them,// Sideswipe pulsed proudly with a bit of mischief. //We’re better than cuddle friends. We’re conjunx enduraeses now.//

The Prime was such a sucker for a sob story, that was good to know. Sideswipe didn’t want to examine how Prime seemed to be able to actually make Sideswipe feel… guilty? Is that what he made Sideswipe feel?

//… Endurae.// Sunstreaker’s quiet, tentative correction caused Sideswipe’s balance to wobble. 

//What.// He pinged with a carefully even tone.

//That’s the plural of endura,// Sunny’s small, always-eager-to-correct-with-his-knowledge voice in his spark said.

Before Sideswipe could process his own rushing storm of emotions, he vaulted off Sunny’s shoulders in a flip and landed gracefully in a crouch. Optics locked on Sunny, Sideswipe blocked the centre of the doorway to the combat training room, forcing Sunstreaker to come to a halt.

//You know what that is?// He kept his tone neutral; on his HUD, he ignored the rise in his fuel pressure. 

Sunstreaker’s look to the side was all the confirmation Sideswipe needed. 

//Conjunx endurae _spark merge_ , Sunny.// Sideswipe snapped out, probing and prowling along their bond for answers.

Plating flaring, a hiss from his frame released the rising pressure in his lines, and Sideswipe slowly rose to standing. Extending his left servo, Sideswipe guided Sunny’s chin back to center so he could stare into his optics. This was knowledge from his slag sucking _Creator_. A mounting, burning possessive fury roared in Sideswipe’s spark. Why did Shockwave always have to ruin _everything,_ even this and after all this time? 

Sideswipe had to know. He had to know the answer to the question he had as a youngling when he was so scared he’d gotten his weirdo in trouble.

//Did you spark merge with my neighbours, _Sunstreaker_?// He hissed, an ominous thrumming lacing his every word. //Did you shove your spark with their spark while _he_ watched? Did you merge with _him_ where I couldn’t see?//

//No!// Sunstreaker answered immediately. 

//Then why have you never told me that others have bonds between their sparks? Why did you let me think that we were weird for having —//

Sunstreaker knocked Sideswipe’s servo away from his face and shoved against Sideswipe’s shoulder as he passed. 

//Because you act like _this_ every fragging time I talk about what I know about fragging “spark stuff,”// He snapped.

Jaw clenched, Sideswipe scrambled in front of him. Their optics locked, and Sideswipe walked backward in time with Sunstreaker toward the equipment closet.

//Well?//

//Well, what?//

//Well, are we?//

//Are we _what?_ // 

//Don’t play dumb, Sunny. It doesn’t suit you.//

Sunstreaker scowled, hesitating and going completely still and quiet along their bond. Sideswipe forcefully blew it open with a powerful rev of his engine. Their fans strained, and Sideswipe’s spark lock snapped open under his chestplate as he searched for where Sunny was hiding in their bond. Sunstreaker’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms. An icy-hot pain tore at Sideswipe’s spark, and his servo flew up to his chestplate. In a flash the pain was gone. Sunstreaker broke optic contact, and narrowed their bond so abruptly Sideswipe’s fans sputtered to a halt.

//Sunny, what the frag -//

//Your chestplate was about to open, you fragging idiot.// Sunstreaker snarled.

Sunstreaker stood with his arms crossed tight to keep his own chestplate shut, then revved his engine aggressively toward the shooting range.

“Frag off and suck on a rusted spike.” Sunstreaker snapped directly at Hound.

Hound, who stood frozen on the shooting range, his mouth slightly open. He stood next to Cliffjumper and Mirage. All three of them were staring at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and as Sideswipe became more aware of their surroundings, he realized they weren’t the only ones. 

The combat room had come to a stand still. 

“We’re training here!” Sideswipe joined his voice to Sunstreaker’s in support. “Don’t you know you stare at your opponent’s optics when you spar to predict their movements? If you watch their fragging servos you’ll get your knee kicked out, it’s basic combat. Soft spark idiots, no wonder you’re losing the fragging war.”

The Autobots in the room muttered and looked awkwardly away, pretending they were no longer watching Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Hound reset his optics then made slight hand movement to Mirage. Sideswipe couldn’t watch closer because Sunstreaker shoved Sideswipe out of the way, and slammed his palm down on the door panel. The door to the equipment closet hissed opened, and Sunstreaker’s servo gripped the wall so tight, it creaked the door frame. 

// _Unacceptable._ //

That single, haunting monotone word echoed uncontrolled down their bond as Sunstreaker stared at all the equipment options he normally sorted through to set up his mobility routine. 

//Sunny?// Sideswipe pinged, concerned.

//… I don’t know if we are.// His pulse was strained.

Sideswipe leaned against the door of the storage room, trying to avoid bringing attention to Sunstreaker’s struggle to keep his glitch under control.

//How can you not —//

//I studied sparks, okay?// Sunstreaker still wouldn’t meet Sideswipe’s optics, staring instead at assortment of bars, hoops, and hurdles he had the meticulously organized the first chance he had gotten. //Big sparks, small sparks, hot sparks, cooler sparks, outlier sparks, aberrant sparks, sparks as energy sources, sparks as — I was assigned to learned and read _everything I could_ about sparks for as long as I can remember. Of course I know conjunx endura is a type of spark bond. I know _theoretically_ how it forms between sparks: how mecha have to share everything in order for it to form, how their sparks need to rotate perfectly in sync, how to simulate — but I… // 

//But what, Sunny?// Sideswipe pinged, softly.

//In _practice_ , I’m only good at breaking them.// Burning frustration ignited to an icy-hot terror that blew open their bond. 

Sideswipe’s spark shrieked under the sudden intensity, replaying the sight of a large red optic hovering over his sluggish frame. His spark slammed to the back of its casing as his spark lock slammed shut with a heavy thunk —

Before Sunstreaker offlined his optics and syphoned the rest of Sideswipe’s terror away. Vents straining, Sunstreaker narrowed their bond down to a sliver, and went ominously still in spark and frame. 

It was then Sideswipe realized that in the absence of feeling Sunny in his spark, he was grasping repeatedly for a field that wasn’t there; that had never been there. Sideswipe forced himself not to wince as his field unknowingly passed straight through Sunny’s frame, twisting, searching, clawing in an attempt to seek comfort and assurance. It hurt. All Sideswipe could hear and feel for a painful moment was his own pounding fuel pump and idle operating noises of his systems. This quiet and still: it was like Sunny wasn’t even there - like he only existed in Sideswipe’s imagination. In moments like this, it hurt more than Sideswipe ever dared to admit as he pulled back his field without receiving a hint of a whisper of one from Sunstreaker. 

His words replayed again and again in Sideswipe’s cortex alongside the image of the mech who shoved his spark again and again into his cuddle friend’s until they both went dim and —

The Autobots assigned someone to a conjunx in case one of the died in battle… and Sunstreaker _had_ cut through both Autobots and Decepticons at the Battle of Polyhex when he felt Sideswipe go offline. It had taken Megatron to stop him. Did that mean...

//We could be though?// Sideswipe reached out to gently stroke the side of his Sunny’s face, needing to feel the heat of his frame to know he was there. That simple touch made Sunstreaker come back in Sideswipe’s spark: trembling and clinging tighter to their bond as if his will and determination alone was all that kept it from deteriorating. //You know how the conjunx endura bond forms. You know sparks. That cycle when… that last time you sang to me, you shared _everything_ with me then right? So… we _could_ be?//

Because… after all, the bond had already formed _before_ Sideswipe had started to lie to Sunny about anything. Sunstreaker’s servos clenched as tight as his plating, and he pressed the side of his face against Sideswipe’s servo as if this would be the last time they’d ever touch. He pressed as if without this connection, the illusion would shatter and Sunny would crumble away to nothing: a spark fragment Sideswipe’s special spark made real, as if he had never been. Sunny tried to hide his fear, but he wanted this new definition to be true as much as Sideswipe did. Sideswipe could feel it in his spark: a word. Sunny wanted a very specific word he could grasp and hold for comfort. 

A word he hid from Sideswipe… or from himself.

//We are not.// Sunstreaker’s joyless, monotonous tone broke Sideswipe’s deep probing along their bond; breaking apart his thoughts like half-remembered databits being filed or discarded from long term memory. //Because like your spark, the formation of our bond was… experimental. I contaminated the procedure by… playing Ping Pattern with you. That was Unacceptable.//

Sideswipe narrowed his optics at him and grit his jaw to hear Sunstreaker say that putrid word about their precious Ping Pattern, but Sunstreaker shifted his optics at the wall refusing to say more. Sunstreaker was close to activating his glitch by digging at their past like this. Pushing any further would only send Sunstreaker running into a corner. Sideswipe dropped his servo from Sunny’s face, and stormed into the equipment room. 

Out of view and out of range of anyone who could feel it, Sideswipe let his EM field rage like a tempest windstorm: it tore and screamed and clawed with over a thousand little wire servos fighting for a life beyond walls and bars. The lights above him flickered a fraction as his field raked against circuits in the walls. In the center of the storm, his field cried out, grasping to cling for comfort from nothing around him. As quickly as it began, his field-storm was spent. His forehelm thunked against a bar, spark feeling ripped and empty. His weirdo stood perfectly still, hovering at the edge of their bond, waiting for input as if on standby and that just fragged Sideswipe right off. Three shiny hoops against the wall caught his optic. He grabbed them: Just Because he thought it might help them use their bond to direct each other to land on seekers. He set one spinning on the palm of his servo, shoved his pain aside, and strode back out -

With a determined smile.

//But, you don’t not know for sure do you?// Sideswipe sang to the tune of his Rust Slug Song. //Don’t think about normal conjunx bonds. How does a _special_ spark change your Conjunx Endurases equations?//

Their bond lit up with a cautious hope before Sunstreaker squashed it down by going silent and still again. His optics cycled softly as he replayed memory files, putting together some pattern of numbers, probability, and events Sideswipe could never hope to understand. They were drawing attention to themselves again; Mirage and Hound were sharing meaningful looks, speaking without speaking as they pretended to check their weapons for malfunctions. Carrier use to do that over Sideswipe’s helm with their neighbours, but Sideswipe ignored them, waiting for his Sunny’s answer.

//I’ve never read _anything_ about being able to talk over any kind of bond, and conjunx endura bonds don’t cause the same spark and bond syncs we have. That could be a side effect of your special spark, though. But I don’t know how the frag a conjunx endura acts outside of —// Without out a sound Sunstreaker snatched the hoop off Sideswipe’s servo, then his engine roared as he stomped toward the center platform. 

He transmitted a ping pattern: off-key and laced in frustration. 

//Neither do I,// Sideswipe quickly caught up, walking in front of him and sending the equivalent of a shrug of support. //In this, we are two weirdo sparks together figuring out the world.//

//How can we know if we are conjunx endura or not then?// Sunstreaker’s servo gripped tight on the hoop.

//Well, what do we know? We do know they have bonds between their sparks,// Sunstreaker pinged the affirmative, //And whose sparks sync better than ours? No one, that’s who. And based on how Ironhide and Jazz talked, I think conjunx endura sparks have something to do with tasting sweet. But what kind of freak licks a spark?//

//That’s disgusting.// Sunstreaker’s revulsion mirrored Sideswipe’s own, but louder. //I was never permitted to — // Sunstreaker cut himself off then continued, //I don’t care if it makes me weird. I would _never_ lick a spark.//

//I know, right? But think about it,// Sideswipe raised a hoop up to frame Sunny’s face in it and gave him an encouraging smile. //They practically handed me the answer. Conjunx endurae _spark merge_. It’s almost too perfect for us.//

//We can’t merge around them, it’s too dangerous. Our actions will sync, and we’ll get locked!// Sunstreaker hissed. 

//We’ll just have to be careful to do surface merges.// Sideswipe shrugged but Sunstreaker scoffed wordlessly that Sideswipe didn’t do careful. 

Sideswipe plowed forward anyway because this was it, this could be, and he knew Sunny _wanted_ to be convinced. 

//So we don’t merge, but we get to touch.// Sideswipe suggested. //Red saw us outside the washracks on his cameras and Command says we _looked_ like conjunx endura touching like that. We didn’t know they were watching, so that’s... observational data right? We don’t know for certain we _aren’t_ conjunx endurae… //

//So we _could_ create a hypothesis that we are conjunx endurae… // Sunstreaker whispered. 

//Exactly!// Sideswipe agreed. //We _could_ be conjunx endurae, it’s not proven that we aren’t, therefore it’s not really a lie now is it? What we are has never been done, so no one can tell us we are wrong. I have a special spark, so I say we _can_ be conjunx endurae! You know why?//

Sunstreaker didn’t respond, but his exclusive focus was on Sideswipe, both over the bond and in his optics, waiting enraptured for Sideswipe’s next move so he could rise to match him.

//Just Because!// Sideswipe declared as he ignited his jetpack to fly up onto the center platform.

When he landed, with a flick of his wrists he set the two hoops spinning on either side of him. Sunstreaker stared up at him, single hoop in his grasp as Sideswipe extended his servo down to him like Carrier would to invite little Bitlet to pretend they could fly together. 

//You and I. Me and you. Does the order of procedure even really matter when the end result is the same?// Sideswipe worked on composing a new melody for them with some experimental patterns that fell flat. //If I imagine a future that has a me without a you and an I… all my spark songs just sound angry and sad. So, what do you say? Will you be my conjunx endura who does mysterious conjunx endura thingies with our sweet sparks Just Because a future by my side if full of adventures, and stories, and laughter, and tickle attacks, and cuddles, and -//

“You’re such an idiotic non-aerodynamic parasite in my spark, you know that.” Sunstreaker interrupted without inflection. 

But as he took Sideswipe’s servo, an uncharacteristic joy flared from Sunstreaker’s side of their bond; not quite singing, but tentatively suggesting his own original pattern replacements for Sideswipe’s flat ones. 

“Yea!” Sideswipe laughed at Sunny’s joke through his own unique smile. His fans strained to keep his spark locked down as Sunstreaker joined him on the platform. “But I’m _your_ idiotic spark barnacle.”

//You and I. Me and you… // Sunstreaker echoed like he couldn’t quite believe it, crossing his arms over his chestplate to keep his spark from reaching out. //The conclusion is the same?//

“Mine. My Sunny.” Gently, Sideswipe rubbed the tip of their noses together just to watch the adorable way Sunny tried to wrinkle his nasal ridge in response to the ticklish feeling. Sunny’s faceplate heated like when Sideswipe had given him his crystal, and slowly that lopsided smile that made Sideswipe’s spark want to jump through hoops together, forever, formed on his beautiful face as he pinged his agreement. 

“We’re Conjunx Endurases!” Sideswipe tossed his head back and shouted out for all of his Cybertron to witness and hear. 

Blasting off to the rafters, his fans roared as he increased the distance between them to help keep from syncing. In the darkest shadows Sideswipe found his starting position, and Sunny took his under the bright lights as he centered himself and his focused control along their bond in their shared joy.

As the two of them got lost in the rhythm and beat between their sparks, Sideswipe cleared every hoop Sunstreaker tossed his direction. And where no one else could hear, Sideswipe composed a new story for them in a melody of joyful, dreaming and determined pings.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were going to rule the skies whether Prime gave them permission too or not; both of them, together, and for always. Sunny was the happiest he’d been since Vos. Sideswipe could hear him quietly humming along with Sideswipe’s new melody; not quite singing yet but he was starting to make his own little adjustments. It had to be only a matter of time now before Sunny sang to Sideswipe again. 

That sealed it for Sideswipe: he was doing the right thing by keeping what Prowl said about Shockwave’s creations being abominations from Sunstreaker. Sideswipe’d worry about keeping his weirdo — no his _Conjunx Endura_ — safe, and the Autobot’s would never know he was here.

Best of all, _He_ was never going to find them, because in the short second when the door to the command meeting opened... Sideswipe saw a way he could make sure Shockwave never touched Sideswipe’s Sunny again. He’d seen enough of Sunny’s schematic drawings over the vorns to recognize it at a glance.

Somewhere on this base, the Autobots were building a real, live spaceship.

It really was for the best that Sideswipe wasn’t named Air Commander.

Everyone knew a _Captain_ outranks a Commander on a ship anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDESWIPE!!!! YOU DEVIOUS FOOL! *Froths*
> 
> **Note to Future Readers: If you just binge read this entire story: stretch and get a drink of water you fool!**
> 
> This is how long it's been since I updated, I still haven't shared art made for Hypothesis from six months ago:  
>  **Arts!**  
> [Greenapplefreak's Mischief comic](https://greenapplefreak.deviantart.com/art/Mischief-721566705) of Bitlet getting his wire mechs from Mischief. The wonderful Greenapplefreak managed to simultaneously make me smile with it and break my heart at the same time. I highly recommend their [SARMA comics](https://greenapplefreak.deviantart.com/gallery/55591595/Sunny-And-Rod-s-Magical-Adventure) where Bayverse Sunstreaker finds and raises youngling Hot Rod: shenanigans and adventures of the best kind happen.  
>   
> [PinkAxolotl85's Sunstreaker](https://pinkaxolotl85.deviantart.com/art/Hypothesis-cover-Sunstreaker-736677437) Makes me scream! Shockwave's possessive hold on Sunstreaker's arm... *sobs*  
>  **Music this chapter**  
> [Rewrite the Stars: Cover by Diego Rodero ft Jessica Diaz](https://youtu.be/hxg50c0I9c8)  
>  I love this version of the song because it can sound simultaneously endearing and ominous if you listen to Diego's verses as Sideswipe. The part when they join together, followed by the little final uncertainty at the end which is Sunstreaker's POV and feelings in this scene chokes me up a bit.
> 
> One of my favourite things about Sideswipe's character in Hypothesis is that his determination to make everything all right between him and Sunstreaker is both his biggest fault and failing, yet also his greatest strength. It all depends on how he uses it.
> 
> After I wrote this chapter I went to find the link to the above song and found out a it's from [the Greatest Showman](https://youtu.be/hwYRqbUn7zg) and... THERE ARE HOOPS!!! 
> 
> *Cackles as I imagine Sunstreaker dangling from a hoop like that... * then I scream and claw my eyes as I remember that's similar to how Aeriform looks (and Acrobatic/Gymnastic dance) and remember who trained him to dance like that and why. 
> 
> **Music!**
> 
> I've been asked on Tumblr and there is a [Hypothesis Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsqI8TQFB-B8TTZCofPmfwFPDxekbQpQT) on Youtube. I keep track of plot threads by using songs as a mnemonic device, so you may not hear the songs the same way I do. I updated it to this chapter. 
> 
> I always love song recs by way of Tumblr if you are there, though I'm not on it as much right now.
> 
> The fantastic [AristotleBlinked](https://aristotleblinked.tumblr.com/myfanmixes) made some Hypothesis character centric playlists which stab me right in the spark. I highly recommend you check them out if you are into music. They have some amazing insights into the core of the characters, some of which I had never considered.
> 
> Anyway, thank so much to all of you for reading and being patient with me as I figure out how to balance writing, mental health, and life. <3


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